Botfly, a poem by Ruby Joy Erskine

botfly

i retreat back to my room,

with another body to exhume,

inhale your memory like floral perfume.

touch your neck, ruin your necklace

because i’m allergic to gold.

the gods built me as a statue,

doomed to stay the same,

made you as a circle of life and death,

cursed to always change.

my hands are blue, pale and cold,

in the summer mornings before the sky cries warm.

breathe in flames, refuse to spit in your open mouth,

(i won’t be the reason you turn green with mold.)

i wish i had a pretty face, but the ghost in my closet

said my head is a rat’s nest.

(does that mean i’m ugly or habitable?)

i forgive you for never saying sorry,

while i hide in the closet

at your brother’s birthday party,

burn myself until your scent is off me,

i recite you like a stim, counting one,

two and three,

a hand that touched my lower back

as you moved past me,

a whisper in my ear,

the cricket’s hymn as i read aloud my obituary.

drawing fake tattoos over the bruises above my knee,

how long do i have to shred my skin off

until i’m just a vessel to bleed?

red from my lungs, up and down my mouth,

breathing in your open mouth,

i forgive the clouds

for assimilating in the sky,

forgive you for choosing the wrong guy,

forgive the frogs

for crying on my patio every night.

and i stay hating you, for choosing to let me die,

to keep me like an old flower on your desk

without water,

and, and, and

and i keep walking, but the shadows move

from my periphery to breathing

cold air down my neck, a snake of a tongue

crawling down my body in one, poisoned lick.

i stay a ghost in your closet,

i drink poison from your open faucet

until i enact a personal law that states

i cannot forgive the clouds for assimilating in the sky,

when it was poison crawling under my skin

like the larvae of a botfly.

botfly

like the larvae of a botfly

when it was poison crawling under my skin,

i cannot forgive the clouds for assimilating in the sky,

until i enact a personal law that states i

drink poison from your open faucet,

stay a ghost in your closet.

crawling down my body in one, poison lick.

cold air down my neck, a snake of a tongue

from my periphery to breathing

and i keep walking, but the shadows move

and, and, and

without water,

choosing to keep me like an old flower on your desk

and i stay hating you, for choosing to let me die,

for crying on my pateo every night,

forgive the frogs,

forgive you for choosing the wrong guy,

for assimilating in the sky,

i forgive the clouds

breathing in your open mouth.

red from my lungs, up and down my mouth,

because i’m just a vessel to bleed,

how long do i have to shred my skin off,

drawing fake tattoos over the bruises above my knee?

the cricket’s hymn as i read aloud my obituary,

a whisper in my ear

as you move past me,

a hand that touched my lower back,

i recite you like a stim, counting one, two and three,

burn myself until your scent is off me

at your brother’s birthday party.

while i hide in the closet,

i forgive you for never saying sorry.

(i won’t be the reason you turn green with mold.)

breathe in flames, refuse to spit in your open mouth,

in the summer mornings before the sky cries warm.

my hands are blue, pale and cold,

cursed to always change,

i made you as a circle of life and death,

the gods built me as a statue, doomed to stay the same,

because i’m allergic to gold.

touch your neck, ruin your necklace

inhale your memory like floral perfume.

with another body to exhume,

i retreat back to my room.