Another Person

They said it would get easier

A prickle, a soundless wind

says otherwise

Fingers, individually cold

warm when wrapped ‘round my wrist

Clouds of locusts that

squeeze out every 

single 

breath
You rip out my hair and feed it to me on a silver spoon

Knots in my throat but 

I can’t cry
That same day

My ears began ringing whenever you’d listen close

Hushed and pressed up against my ribs

Your little hands, untouchable

And I
I melted the poker in the fire

you are made of diamonds

And i struck through the heart