by Noise Pollution

There’s a scrawl
written on the doorframe
in red
a mix of letters and numbers
and words better off
And I cursed
somewhere underneath
my breath
as something clawed
her way out of
my head
and she read
the writing on the wall
and she said
something subtle, smooth
and small

and she slid
her pointed fingertip across my chest
and drew blood

and I drew circles
on a little slip of paper
in a skylit room
filled with all these cardboard cut-out strangers
and I drew breath
all across the page
but it looked like lines
shaped as an edge, formed like a blade

so I held it
because no one
it takes something
I can’t see
to have
symmetry with me

but they erased
all the verses I had penciled
along the walls
the patterned lines
and geometric shapes
they found with luminol
and doused in bleach
made so clean
its poison breath
like gasoline
stings my throat
and with it brings
a million painful

but I’m writing them again.
I will write you again.