pink

my pink prophecies,
coming up out of under
a silkened surrender that seems
so clever now. all that red, kept
below a heavy white cover. i
can see where i was written.
and in some weatherless
realm, maybe there are no
allowed reactions. but there are
seasons in me and, this one's

finally stiff. even knowing it wasn't
the whole goal to drain or freeze
me, but that it couldn't factor in-
and that's no apology. so,
contest to my aggression and i will
stomp out your survival speech. because
this is mine now. i will not keep re
stricting my self, remaining so long with
out because someone can't keep
their focus or word. take
lightly to me as one paused
screenshot, open to interpretation.
but i'm not. i'm

pink.
lit from inside. like a rose
grown in a fucking fireant.
like a wooden glove wrapped
around a firearm that's pressing into
the dirt. ground down from the
sick dissecting of all that you
couldn't bring to life. just because
i carry more than my weight
doesn't mean i will
put my hand in my mouth-

i will hold it out, hot,
still burning and say, stop. i will
tell you when i am done. pink,
grinding away toward red. licking
up my breath when you don't know
what to say and can't remember
what was mine before. strike, strike,
strike a match. i don't want it back.
ha, and it all came true. you
look better sorry.