Someone keeps sewing my mouth shut
with stitches that match my skin.

My nights are haunted by dreams
where a slippery arm pulls out my heart
from my throat.
In the clean palm of your hand
it is you who holds my heart—
an eyeglass in one hand and
needle and threat in the other.
Asking:
Why do you cry?
My mouth is sewn shut.
Why do you cry?
Because the stars aren’t magic,
and things look prettier in paintings,
and you cannot help
but sew my mouth shut.

You have eyes that remind me of firelight,
and a voice that somewhat sounds like mine.
You sing to me as you take a bite
out of my heart and
spit it out onto the snow.
Immersed in darkness I search for it
on sore hands and knees.
Why must we always search?
For darkness is absence of light,
and absence of light
is nothing.
And so,
I fill my chest with air
and let you sew my mouth shut

Oh, my woes now wear no sound.
I am water
that dreamt it went up in flames.
So I sink,
my fingers dripping from bleeding welts.
Slowly, I sew my mouth shut
with stitches that match my skin.