What will it cost me
to feed your ravenous loneliness
to be the balm on your raw isolation
caused by your double identity?
You’ve wedged yourself in a space
created by two concentric worlds
escape is a powerless prayer.
I opened a door
and you bounded through
exploding in the relief of freedom.
But the door scraped against my wounds
from the cross-section
of history and experience
it spirals into a wild current
sucking me down to its thick red depths
where I can no longer hear my name.
When you withdrew
carelessly banging the door shut
you left something behind.
The coat that concealed your loneliness
lies crumpled over my wounds
but it cannot not staunch the flow
it only continues to absorb
my life blood
until we congeal together.
It is mine, now;
I cannot give it back.