A Corpse Degree

(you'll be in the arms of imagination soon, and i will be an aftertaste,
a translucent bruise slipping away in the tone of your skin
you can throw away the stains, but i still lost sustenance,
you can hide or destroy the evidence, but i am still your crime.

i love....)

the punishment is the unexplained taunting for explanation and a place,
distilled fluid hungry for defilement,
the virgin hangs eagerly with fresh limbs spread,
the innocence wants only to know and the innocence will pay
for the knowledge that enters its womb and, pregnant with resentment and hate,
it will stumble a crippled path back to the home that no longer recognizes it
in its post-eden state.

i will not survive this murder of my witnesses' demand,
i only know life because its gone, found the shape of myself
by dismantling the substance of myself and
i am gathered for the final time,
the sun is running,
the shadows winning against the light and i don't want to contemplate
what waits for me in yet another night where i am isolated by a dimming moon
that seems to eat itself in a self-absorbed digestion of brutal self-examination
and i see myself in its craters gasping,
frozen in a suffocating cryogenic daydream, a catatonic cycle of endless introspection
like an imploding, dwarfing star

they want to lock me away with a signature,
they want me to be defined so that i can be dismissed in the numbers,
lost in the data, dead in the bureaucracy,
a morgue of documents,
fill out this form and bring out your dead
fill out this form and bring out your dead
but i have a name and they won't know it
as you don't and
You don't you can't pronounce it,
your tongue locks on its syllables and you choke

i am not a haunting
i am the invention you created
to explain the haunting away--
you would wish me to a distortion,
you would close your eyes and destroy me,
forget the memory of me and
your ease of these things makes me afraid--
i never knew a blink could end me,
never knew i was real until you erased me,
as birth is the first promise of dying
as in this i wish i was never conceived.

but this hate will heat me to a corpse degree and
spare me from rotting but never raise me back to living,
i cannot be your lazarus lie for preaching
and i will never know the language of joy again.  
you will not make a spring of this stubborn willing winter,
the seeds are trapped with their potential,
the pollen stifled from their bloom,
i am a season that was, always is, forever
and was never but once a torture to your skin