Weighted (This is meant to be a Slam)

Your comments slip off silver

Like slivers of ice-nine

Onto frozen ears.

Your eyes betray you.

Tears are crystals

Meant to be broken.

When you hold my shoulders

It no longer feels

Like the arms of a chair,

But of the cold metal of a cell.

Your hand on my waist

Is not soft; 

It is a chain,

You are the weight at the end.

In the mirror,

You are the ghost at my shoulder,

The hand clutched around my heart,

And the anchor of the voices

In my head.

You are the crazy,

The hazy, 

The wild,

The doubt that brings me back

Into the safety of the shell

I painted gold.

But the paint chips.

And underneath is a softness

That has no name.

Your words still cut,

You are still the blade

Wedging itself farther

Into my back

And deepening the scar

That was already there,

Blood dripping down my spine

Until I have no spine left

Because you severed it. 

And now my words

Are pouring onto the page

Because they have nowhere else to go,

I am bleeding words

That have built up for years

Inside my paper skin

Onto the paper in front of me, 

And there you are,

The paperweight on the corner of the page.