The Escape Hatch and the Fire Axe

Today, I am the Escape Hatch.
Temporary-distraction of
digital parchment correspondence.
With the flashing feathered quills,
promising flesh and thrills
through the wireless ansibles
over the hills
and through her heart.

I am the Escape Hatch.
Cotton-comforter-confidant
where She lay bare and recanted
stories of her ill-fitted tilt-stitch-world
where the crooked seams
somehow aligned between

the twisted sidewalk
and her heather-blue dreams.

With each tenuous step
under the cloudy dander white lines
floating through the irreverent skies
as our gazes are fixed on the ever-growing

crack.

in the ceiling.  

I am the Escape Hatch.
Cold-steel-shield and He is the Fire Axe
surrounded by uniforms and flashing
lights after he razed her possessions
and left red marks around her neck
in his obsession
to make her
love-  him – back.

He may not know my name,
but he knows what I am–
The obsidian obelisk
a midst the crops of his happiness,
and he can neither turn me
nor’ till me

so he burns her fields instead.    

I am the escape hatch.
The final twist it took to seal her
entirety for eternity on the other side.

Until the rain ran past
the red rust in the hinges
reduced to ruin,

and the handle immovable,
and the decision, irrevocable.

Goodbye.  Adieu to you.  

 

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