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Abbie Heath

25 Feb Abbie Heath

TELL THEM I DON’T HAVE BLOOD ANYMORE, JUST METAL

 

“tell them i don’t have blood anymore,” i yell, “just metal (metal metal metal coursing
between my fingers where i once touched you).”

i want you to look at me and tell me it was beautiful as i suck the marrow from your bones
(my fingers prick the softness of your cheek like keys i’ve known but never played).

this is when everything is sharp,
like the tip of the beat as it reaches my ears or
my heels as they dig into the ground,
like the taste of metal on yr tongue from the cut in yr mouth (did i put it there did
i put it there did i put it there, no)

“and i will cover you like the ice on the trees in this frigid fucking city and i will weigh you to the
ground, inescapable.”

you you you,
the eternal you, the symbolic you.
i choke on you, i gag on you, i spit on you.

this is the metal that no one sees.

how did you not know i wear it all metallic beneath my skin,
how did you not know i am made only of points and edges that come through in the dark as
my boots slip on the ice and your eyes burn into me and i can’t i can’t i can’t

i will prick the hairs that line your cheeks with
the sharpness of my fingers and as you tell me you like it i
will i will i will cause pure ruin.

this is an exercise in overconfidence,
this is an exercise in smoke,
this is an exercise of self-defeat

 


Abbie Heath lives in Lansing, Michigan, where she curates Peachy Press & Peachy Keen Zine, which strives to publish works that highlight voices on the margins.

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