pt. IV

*January 3rd, 2014 - present* they used to call you newt.

you are a cancer on my heart, decrepit: covered in mold and cobwebs.

at the center of it, is the twenty-five hundred miles between us crushed and compressed into a black hole.

you beguile me with your turquoise veils, you strangle me with praise. it’s raining on the golden son until our daughter’s days.

but in this metal cage you put me in i have no wood on which to knock. we are headed for disaster, we are hiding under rocks.