By: Buck Weiss
I sit at the wheel,
my body covered in the gore of those who took you from me.
The blood of their prophet leaks from the edges of my mouth.
I look at the cuts on my hands from where I crazed their barb wire smiles.
The cells under my nails that would be traced back to ripped beating hearts.
The soldier I fought in the wood.
A shot from afar to ground him.
Fire and diesel to bleed him black.
The demon I caught in the night.
Light to blind his red rimmed eyes.
Silver to slice off the jaw that scraped your flesh.
The witch found me half mad,
thought she had me in her pride.
I tore her throat with my teeth and watched her drown in crimson.
Their leader begged me in the end,
talked of regrets and the need to forgive.
I cut him apart an inch at a time,
his screams the sound of seraphim climax.
So, now I sit in the car where we first made love,
set aflame by frenzy and petrol bombs.
My enemies gone, my vengeance given succor.
I rage out at the infinite darkness as the music crescendos
and you, you’re still gone.
Buck Weiss (he/him) is a writer and American Literature professor who lives in Chattanooga, TN. His poems appear in Dwelling Literary, Mansion (Dancing Girl Press), Invisible Bear, and The TYCA_SE Journal. Follow him on Twitter @WhyBuckWhy.
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