We got into a fight today.

I didn’t get a black eye

but an empty spirit

when words you spat

tore through my flesh

with burning sensations.

 

Your work left no visible marks.

 

We got into a fight today.

You didn’t get a broken arm

that needed a cast

but cast over you

was the darkness

of doubt

and darling, its spreading

and you know how terrified I am

of nothingness.

 

Now I tremble; I write with black ink.

 

We got into a fight today.

You, my mouth, and I.

I couldn’t quite figure out

who was firing those shots at you

with bullets I didn’t authorize

to send blasting through your ears.

Perhaps that is why you’re deaf and I, ashamed.

 

We got into a fight today.

And I’m sorry I can’t

say what I feel

under your intoxicating poison

but I’m certain

despite the adaptations

I have made,

poetry

has given me

a gas mask.