Marrow
I suck the marrow out of life.
I’m still learning not to bite bones.
It is dark, and I break my teeth.
I gnaw.
I suck the marrow out of life
like I have never tasted anything before.
I write in notebooks when there is no sunlight.
I write in notebooks all night.
Somewhere there is
a candle with a flame
that stirs for no one.
I have never seen it,
but it exists.
The thought of it keeps me up.
I long to be a flame
flickering in the darkness
of this shared night.
I go outside.
The wind grips me
and tosses me like a grenade
to the black everywhere.
Why should I remain white light?
How do I stay still so long?
The white I have in life
now belongs to the bones I’m
biting down on.