“Sometimes quiet is violent” – twenty one pilots
I held her as
her every muscle bent.
Along her back, a twisted waltz
rippled beneath the skin
(her ribcage danced like worms)––
her jaw fell open, her tongue pushed back
as if in a scream, as if she gagged.
Her eyes rolled in her head,
all the way backwards, into her brain;
her nerves ripping, her muscles snapping,
her dead fish arms
limp at her sides.
I held her, and whispered kindnesses to her,
but I could not revive her,
which shook me all the more,
as she was me.
We sat in silence.