I Have Ridden in Your Cart, Driver

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I have ridden in your cart, driver,

Ridden your streets to fire-drenched eternity,

Wrapped my bone-flesh fingers into the thread of your hair,

Finding the last, glowing waysides where embers wreathe

A metallic snow-fire, slowly melting deliberate ashes

From my simple crimson dress and my

Bones split at your nimble touch

Splintered feet are planted, wavering on death's crooked line

Not ashamed to live

Muscle moves bone moves body and

Step

Step

Feel muscles extend, contract,

Feel the pulse of veins under willow tendons

Feel foot swing forward, I am

Walking

My feet have stepped where yours lay,

Pressed heel deep into condensed ground

Step

Step

I have felt that pain, your fingers against my spine

Are hammer blows that bloom purple black bruises along my back.

I don't remember where it began, this need to

Be in constant movement.

My feet carry thunder-dashed storms,soaking the ground where

I grow my garden of lies, I don't want to

Reach for the weed, and pull the flower.

With every sentence I speak, the weeds rise around me. I drag them in,

Weeds catching at my feet. I kill with my lies.

I pull them into my garden, devil-snared nettles clutching at their

Throats. I can taste their acrid, sweaty fear.

I wander, lonely,

With the faceless crowd,

Toward my martyrdom.

Step.

Step.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,

Ridden your streets to fire-drenched eternity,

Wrapped my bone-flesh fingers into the thread of your hair.

Finding the last, glowing waysides where embers wreathe

A metallic snow-fire, slowly melting deliberate ashes

From my simple crimson dress and my

Bones split at your nimble touch

Splintered feet are planted, wavering on death's crooked line

Not ashamed to live.

Muscle moves bone moves body and

Step.

Step.

Step.

Because I remember, I despair. Because I remember, I have the duty to reject despair.





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