a solid finger,
proud, white knuckles
rising from the hand
firm. centered. a middle,
so calm and assured that it's a symbol of solidity
pale boys like lanterns, writhing in the dark
a periodic flash breaks the noise we see
sounds rising in the fog of bodies; the room was cold before
now we breach the surface to breathe, to claw and crush
gasping. gasping for breath, gasping for the pain
gasping so the oxygen (not pure, for it's our bodyfog)
can help us forget. that's why we're there,
so the pain of throwing my five foot body against walls of flesh
blocks out the holes in my brain.
i cannot look at the pictures... they're like little flames, flickering my eyelids until i try and put them out
salty fire extinguishers that bid me turn away

turn to the holes, pulling in towards them
gentle leaps from the oasis, slightly higher
where we only have a moment then throw ourselves back in
to the pit. the pits
of everything everyone can't bear to take with them, so it is left
dropped.
deposited
and i leave my love there, too