To Trust In You

on the mysterious stranger that kidnapped your heart; a devotional poem
alt; a devotional poem to the silent, gas-masked poet of a boy who kicks your ass at pool in the shitty bar off-campus
25/12/2021. total words: 287

I want you to carve my throat open with clean, glass-clear water. If it empties out red,
then I know the words I haven’t yet said are still mine. If my throat bleeds black like motor oil,
then you’ve kissed me a little too deeply, left the mark of your hidden lips
across my neck and down my spine.

You’re the gunfire on every beat of Sweet Caroline;
your breath the smoke in the air when the volcano invents acid rain.
You’re the sparkle of the whiskey in the glass,
the way it burns through my sternum when it goes down. You’re the shadows in the night
your eyes the lights of the city horizon over the docks downtown. You’re smooth as rye
and you see the shots and baby, you burn like massage oil into my skin.
You’re toxic and you keep me breathing.
Without you I wouldn’t be breathing.

The ground could shake and the thunder could roll
and you’d still be standing there still as limestone, waiting-
I’d see a glitter in one eye and know I’m yours. It’s hard to be anything but yours.
I’ve built myself one failed block up at a time
and when I fall through the snow you’ll catch me.
You’re a survivor, and you’ll toss me drunk shotgun in and drive us home.

Blow the smoke off the muzzle of the word-shot gun behind your mask,
carve my throat with clean, glass-clear lyrics. Hands gnarled and cut up with scars
can still make the most delicate of jewelry.

You’re the inventor of the storm, and I’m the scribe,
and when you describe the tempest, it’s all I can do to listen.
It’s all I can do, to listen.

written in the guise of Ben 'Not BdoubleO100 Yet' Marklan

Caught in a third-floor elective classroom. To Trust In You is a devotional poem about two fictional boys. I wrote it as a bit of a challenge to mix up my usual style, written in the guise of one Ben Marklan. They’re both poets of very different calibers; Ben is a slam poet in the local university’s slam team, and Eric is a professional writer with serious asthma problem. Eric is quiet and intimidating and desperately trying to keep Ben from getting himself killed without having to explain the local writer’s cult with reality-defying powers. Ben is... not that smart, in over his head, and perfectly willing to deal with the cult so his boyfriend isn’t afraid all the time. Originally written for my fiance's birthday, edited and rewritten for class. It's... it's gone through a few versions.