I got that buzzing under my skin
            Too big for my bones,
            Like I’m working my way out of a chrysalis,
                     or trying, anyway.
            The godhood pressing out of me from within,
And fuck the stretch hurts. Flesh doesn’t fit right.
              Tendons twitching, bones creaking,
             But without resolution.
No cataclysmic apotheosis,
            Just a long breathless moment and a heart that skips every beat.

And all I want is to shatter.

I want to erupt out of the here and now and me and this, 
            This body, this town, this self, this world,
                        I’ve outgrown it all.
            I wanna watch the divinity peel itself out and discard the husk,
                        Let the bones break and sprout and twist and grow,
                                    Let the teeth stretch 
                                                and the eyes bloom 
                                                            and the ichor drip out of where 
                                                                        I’ll grow so fast I 
                                                                                split,

But it
                       isn’t happening it
                                                            isn’t happening it
                                                                                                never will,
            So I want to find something sharp and dash myself against it.
                        I need rocks, I need glass, I need pavement.
                                    I need to crack me open and let me out,
                                                I need to make visible the altar of flesh and rot and flies and teeth,
            But there’s too much holy blood on too many bathroom tiles and 
                       city sidewalks
            Pooled in dumpsters or splattered on knuckles,
            And adding my own to the flood won’t make me whole.

Instead, I breathe.
            Shoot up a little liquid grace each week,
                        Taking in the sacrament on my knees,
                        Can’t see the holy seeping through me but it’s there,
                                    I feel it.
When they try to call a name they know,
            I pick dead flesh from between their teeth and
                        Shove it down their throats.
           And when they ask my name we say Legion,
                        Speaking in so many voices, so sacred, their ears start to bleed.

I’m still waiting on my wings, feeling the ache of absence on my back, 
            But I got one budding between my legs, 
                        And it’s good enough for me. 
My teeth stay short and blunt but I’ll bare them anyway,
            And if there’s blood on them,

                        It won’t be my own.