A.J Huffman

We are Open

wound with no desire

but to fester.  We seep

into each other.  A cross-

contamination so fatal

we cancel each other

out, unite again

and again in a pool

of our own puss.

---

You Are Gaping

maw of blackness, an encompassing hole

sucking my life into breathless silence.  You are

stagnancy, contaminating nothing.  You consume

until the last spark of vitality is vanquished.

You are beast, master, bastard.  You are bloody

oblivion, covered in tinfoil stars.

---

I Am Ice

bullet, nightmare of myth.

Probably untraceable, I am hard

enough to puncture skin,

heart.  I am not hollow,

but solid projectile of cold

rage.  I am termination,

linked.  I will evaporate

with your last breath.

A. J. Huffman-

The Rabbit's Revenge

She pulled the string.

And the blinds opened,

baring

their glaring yellow teeth.

And the walls

continued to breathe . . .

As she stood

against the mirror.

Safe.

She thought.

In the eyes

of her own reflection.

Until their color

changed.

And her own hands

reached out.

For her throat.

Nightmare.  In Red Sharp.

The hole

beneath the pillow

speaks.

To me.

Through the night.

It breathes.

Dark language

fills my ears.

Painting my dreams

in subconscious blood.

Dripping fingers snake the wall.

Stroking.

Soothing.

The way to desire.

Through a room.

Blackened by windows

stitched shut.

I walk.

Alone.

Pulling my own leash.

Leading my own way.

To a cage

nailed

before an open doorway.

I take off my shoes.

And follow this path

of glass.

Knowing the end

and the exit.

Are not the same direction.

Still I approach the bed.

Canopies flowing.

White.

Above curtains

draped in rusty mail.

Remembering.

Knowing.

Armies have slept this sleep before me.

I join their silence.

Proudly.

And cover myself.

With their hallowed death.

Legacy

Slash one.

Sew two.

Veins.

In the dark.

Sounding

a tired song.

As I go

through the rites

of this ancient dance.

Alone.

On the bed.

I remember

my mother's coffin.

And calling her

mad.

For preaching

she could die

indefinitely.

Slash one.

Sew two.

Alone.

On the bed.

I realize

I am mad.

For believing her.

 A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has previously published three collections of poetry: The Difference Between Shadows and Stars, Carrying Yesterday, and Cognitive Distortion.  She has also published her work in national and international literary journals such as Avon Literary Intelligencer, Writer's Gazette, and The Penwood Review.  Find more about A.J. Huffman, including additional information and links to her work at http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000191382454 and https://twitter.com/#!/poetess222.