The Thing Inside Me (or An Angry, Bloody Fist)

You are electric blue. Translucent, radiant,
you make me question everything. You are
perfect, skilful, calm. You cause me
to unravel.

I see you everywhere. In the reflection
of a window, under my sofa cushions. I smell you.
You linger. The scent is purple anger,
a reckoning.

You are the thing inside me. You’ve wound
yourself around the bloody fist.
You’ve snaked into the beats of my blood.
You know its music.

I crack my chest like a lobster, like a shell.
I dig my hands in-between my own hot
wet lungs and veins. I root around for you.
Between my fingers is only the stain
of your electric blue, once living.