The thing in my head tells me I am going to die soon

& the one in my chest whispers how: “alone”

I am the remnant of a malformed nightmare

Slowly breathing itself into reality with each waking hour,

A dagger prodding restless waters.

I am sore from fitting my feet into these little black sandals made

From my mother’s blistering past.

With each truth I uncover, my reality slimes

like my father’s semen.

Each night, in my sleep, I slip into another layer of earth as

I dream of potions and PCPs.

This thing that steals my breath away

You should see how it groans and twirls inside me     

like a molehill-turned-mountain

Reaching for the pendulum of my uvula

It is yet to have a name but my silence christens it misery.

There are dark things lodged between my teeth and nails—

Memories of lovers and the moments before we touched

The loamy soil I bathed in when I was 3

Remnants of clay and dead flesh

The eight fading colours of the rainbow

Bits of mother’s last meal before her exile

Dust. Death. And the nostalgia of a familiar lie.

A.D. Xavier is the Associate Poetry Editor I for The Muse Journal No 50, a perpetual daydreamer, constantly lost in his world of make-believe. With a rather uncouth worldview on sadness and misery, he adores slow, melancholic music and obsesses over black poetry. Often, he muses over lost love and unrequited affection. Loves to listen to Eminem, Tems, Sia and Adele, as he finds their pieces charming and overwhelmingly poetic.