words

i am spinning in place
alone in this bed,
i am a revolver
holding hollow points
in my iron grip
to dispel whatever
may creep upon me
in my sleep.

i am the bore
through which you pass,
the terminal you must navigate,
the blind vessel from one pause
to the next.

i weld sound to memory,
drunken nights of youth
carried out in smoke filled rooms,
the neon lights of my young eyes,
the terrible laughter
that sprang from my throat,
the horror of that boy i was.

the criminal heart caged in my chest
comprised of smoke and glass,
my bones are brick and my skin rubber,
i am a stranger in your world
and i wear it like a crown.

-S.C. Martinez