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I have a demon for
sale
but it will cost you
more than
you are probably
willing to pay.
It has already
bled me drier than a
dead president’s kiss,
and still I owe.
I go
to great lengths
to starve it,
try to keep it at
bay—
this drunk dial
sober reality
I try wishing away—
close the trap door,
cut it off
at its legs,
squeeze-close
the cracks
in my armor, again,
from the fray.
Because
when you love
something broken
you break
and you break
and you break.
© 2014 Jennifer
Wagner
For dVerse Poetics
Grace offers us the work of conceptual photographer Brooke Shaden.
Note: I took some artistic license with the word "trapdoor." I separated it for dramatic emphasis, in case anyone was hung up on the spelling, ha. But dictionary.com says it can be "trap door" too, so maybe it's okay anyway. Thanks for reading!