But Me

I’m writing you
a piece of history
from this balcony
where I can see
all below me

it’s all planned out
like a battle map
so why even try
I know I can fly
I know I will touch the ground

I know I will scorch
the earth
carving your initials
in my skin
no one can pronounce your name

but me

but, to me, it is all the same

it is your blame
I crave
you’re concave
and I am perplexed
falling from apex

I am a cylinder
and you are
bones braced
and you are so abrasive

you hold my heart
together when I stop
time and count my

but me

but, to me, it’s all the same

Dead Fingerprints

Torment fills the
creases of my
haggard face as
raised hairs erect
themselves in defense
of an unknown stranger

who has no face,
no skin to speak of,
just dried bones
that clack together
like brittle wind chimes
whispering a tuneless dirge

My limbs shake furiously
from my splintering
taunted by the
invisible oblivion
waiting outside the
chamber door

I am tainted
by the fingerprints
of dead gods

There is a window here,
but I did not open it —
an exit,
but I did not take it

With eyes closed,
eternally fastened
to the penumbra
of the lantern’s
I fall helplessly
into my self

Death is borne
into me

© Christopher Rupley and Steve Shultz 2015

(This is another collaboration with the talented Christopher. He’s really opened my eyes to the art of collaborative writing. Be sure to check out more of his awesome work here).