A circle of salt
With me sitting cross legged at its centre,
Crosses scored into the backs of my hands.
Eyes burn red
from salty sleepless nights.
I see the blood chug
Thick through the capillaries.
Outside the circle the night
Like a wall of static sound
Dark and blatant
Encroaches
Deafeningly loud.
Some days the world heaps itself on top of you.
It pulls at the strands of your hair and rasps
its uncut nails over your semi-healed wounds
Snagging at the scabs and leaving little
Snail trails of your own half dried blood.
Some nights the world leaches into your life
Like an ocean of sand
Grain by blistering grain
Hot and slow
Until you are completely dry
And devoid of hope.
At those times I close my eyes,
Hum quietly to no one
And try and convince myself
That you are worth it.
Agitation of hands. Strength of words. 