move on, they say

poem by courtenay gray

Oh, the rage — consuming me.

The devil’s dinner date,

I wear his horns on my belt.

My chains of entrapment and overindulgence.

Coarse and thick, his hair melting into his skin.

I, the angel that sits upon his shoulder.

Whisper sweet nothings — do nothing at all.

Sulphuric aromas swirl like incongruous whirlpools.

Pull the plug on harmony,

He strips her of that badge, that namesake.

I can do nothing to help.

I do not wish to see him — to be around him is to be burned alive.

This adoration wears skin of fire and acid.

That starlight glint in his eyes is his only saving grace for — I am not grace.

I cannot save us.

We are numbed and dissolved