receptacle

there is too much of that in there. 
i cannot wait for you. 

it's an empty box unlocked and it has all of it, all of it, the ten thousand things
and it tries to eat me alive. 

please do not come. 
i have my own sword. 
they say build a shield but i am not one to approach these things cautiously. 

i feel it all
i feel you all
i feel all of you
i am not afraid anymore

i am full of lies. 

i am so very very afraid. 
might as well be a voodoo doll. 
stick me with ten thousand pins all over, so i feel the pain all over and up into the insides. 
kidneys, liver, pins slosh in my skull. 
the heart of course, but that goes without saying.
i don't blame you; i must admit it's got a nice squish for pins. 
cathartic red that stains your masculine fingers. 
maybe that will change you. 
you hope. 
i think not. 

i feel the age i'm not. 
you press your years against me
and your height
with your heels
and that optimal voice you will never, ever like

what will you have me do? climb inside your throat and stack up the cards again, again, 
again after each breath, each comment that causes collapse?

what would you have me do, when i can't fix you?

my heart is a fragile being too.  
it is prone to flutters, sudden attempts to escape which render the rest of me unholy. 

we all have our faults. 
we all carry our errors like the dead, dragging behind us. 

no. 
they are yours. 
i do not want your old names, your old lives. 
mine are enough. they are rowdy, they drain me, they are enough.