It's like an itch buried in my arteries

like moths beating against my rib

bones

Here, let me pull them apart for you

say the word, I'll bare my heart and the creatures that call it home

 

Maybe if I say it first I can finally itch the scratch

of your eyes; they're the blade betwixt my ribs

 

Will you see it--

with my chest torn apart

like an ancient future telling tradition--

can you watch a blade-speared heart?

 

Perhaps,  with the clawing apart of my chest,

you can finally face the truth

 

While the secrets swirl away, flashing their grey wings,

Their tissue homes fall, destroyed by biting steel

and reddened thumping earthquakes that roar and fault

in a wave of desperation against the blade of your eyes

 

My ribs lie open, the blade here for your viewing

Yet I can't feel anything than my torn heartbeat

 

as it strains against the open air

craving freedom, but (unlike immigrant moths)

nailed to the itch and dying

of a steel blade and statistical laws