Weak, Weak, Week

It's not because I'm weak

Or maybe yes it is—forgive me, love

I do what I must when fate throws her fork in

She smiles and dares and whispers

And thinks I might be selfish but I stand where I stand

It's not because I'm weak but because I see what comes next

You fall, I fall

And then you hit

And, darling, what am I left with?

Just some scattered bones and repeats of who I am

Repeats of what I have already seen but

Tried to bury in the dirt

Where it belongs

Undo my collar and loosen this up and you'll see

Red

Dried away and now only color but still there

Like beacons, like foghorns, like shouting

Shouting, screaming tiny things yelling from their beds

Dreaming up things like me

Running to mothers and crying into aprons

They too remember

Memories remind me there was a man

But death has come to visit him

She wasn't donned in black but ivory—she mirrored

The child's eyes she came upon

And death became not the night but the moon

Take my weakness if you will—if that makes it easier

Hate will then become

Your freedom

And that is still

Sufficient

Ramsay, Ramsay—him and I were meant for things in lighter settings

We hoist and pull

And smile and play the black jack when you ask it

Take my weakness

The one thing I present with glee

Body bent and eyes uncolored

Tis all I have for thee