his blood, my curse
his blood, my fate
his name, erased.
matters none
my crime remains
his blood, my blood
his name, my crime
his fate, my fate
matters none
And another.
she doesn’t even know
that when she moves
so does the ground
so does the pain
she doesn’t even know
that when she moves,
it’s not the dance I’m watching?—
it’s what she’s saying
Or the song I’m listening to
it’s the story her body tells
a hidden language
that speaks
oh, it speaks
to me
and me only
she doesn’t even know
that when she moves
the ground moves
and I shift with it
This time I close the journal with a little too much force. “Damn you, Jaxwell St. Clair, and your beautiful poetic-ass words that are apparently wasted on a dead tree,” I mutter to the empty room. “Hope you and your little notebook are very happy together.”
