I, I wrote a poem
on your porcelain white back
and you, you cut the cord in me,
and you, you wore the mask—
painted red, with golden cross,
and in your hands of glitter blue,
you hold the knife that cuts the sun,
the polished knife, it cuts me too.
And I'm nailed onto your shadow,
and I thank you for my birth,
I hear your voice, like silver crystals,
raining tears upon these words.
And I, I remember
I remember who you were.
I saw you standing in the ruins,
cut from white stone and yellow earth . . .
Then you come for me . . .
Through the hills of iron,
through the leaves of rust,
through the turning white mist,
through the steel wire and underbrush,
through the lines that mark your face,
through the living joy that I erased,
beneath the pools of shining glass,
beneath the water and through the past . . .
You come for me, and you come for me . . .
You put your eyes in my head,
you put your voice in my mouth,
you put your mind in my mind,
you put your blood in my blood,
you put your hand into my side,
you put your lips onto my skin...
and you come for me, you come for me . . .
and you come . . .
And the fire will burn my eyes out,
but the truth will refuse to leave my mouth.
And the water will run thick black,
and this planet will rupture and crack.
And you people will whisper with her name,
and your children will curl up in the flames.
And her fingers will touch the empty space,
and the starlight will shine behind her face.
And her body will show the secret heat,
and the ocean will gather at her feet.
And her two arms will hold the life I lost,
but her blue eyes will nullify the cost—
of attrition, self-hate and inner rage,
running down my face and through my veins.
I'll kneel naked upon the burning coals,
I'll steal the diamond that flashes in your soul,
if you'll come for me—
if you come for me—
Will you come for me . . . ?
And we'll rise above,
we'll rise and rise and rise above . . .
(I can't live without you.)
