I guess it might have been better
if it was fists, and blood,
and a lack of air.
I too, have hands, can
retaliate in kind, wriggle free
prove myself against those types of things.
The dark isn’t like that.
It isn’t a thing to rage
against. It is an absence.
like a hollow in sheets, or spaces
between fingers that are not
it is the like the gaps between
my shoulder blades, and ribs
I have been trying to fill since before
I knew other humanoid creatures dreamed of flight.
It is like starvation.
A lesson that teaches you
to hoard and cycle
because hunger- once it is known,
forcibly, is a feeling
that never leaves.
and when you feel the wind
tickle that sort of emptyness
and you wake from the horrors
of you mind into a reality that doesn’t
exist in that moment because all you
can see is darkness.
Well, no one else deserves that either.
And you hope that bread is hope.
And that they don’t know fists and hands