and I’ll bleed wine and—
well, I don’t know if it will be shadows
or starlight.
Maybe the dust and gases that nebulae are made from,
unassuming alone, but with the power to
create or destroy.

My tears would track acid down my face
if I still knew how to cry,
and there’s always more poison
ready to come out of the wound.

Was it supposed to stay inside?
Was I supposed to hold all the darkness in,
and keep the world just a little bit lighter?

The howl building in my chest
between my heartbeats will
take out a dozen city blocks and the
northeastern power grid.

There’s something inside, and maybe
it’s the wine,
maybe it’s the blackout, and maybe it’s
the energy of my heart beating
and pumping blood
that destroys everything it touches.

There’s something inside me,
and maybe it’s the tequila,
and maybe it’s all the adventures I haven’t had,
and maybe it’s my soul.
But if a soul wants to escape,
ought you to let it go,
or find a reason for it to stay?

There’s something inside me,
and maybe it’s an angel,
and maybe it’s a monster,
and maybe this body is all that’s keeping it contained,
because sometimes I think I can feel
the nuclear explosion building
in my ribcage.

Sometimes it quiets, but it never falls silent.

It’s waiting.

And I don’t know if it will ravage the world,
or only me,
but I’m not sure I care which happens.
Let it take me either way.