You Never Know

You Never Know

By

Amy Kyle and Nathan Caleb Camerer

There are words hanging onto the skin of my teeth

Suspended in your frigid breath
Dead men 
But we both know they don’t tell tales
In black and white
But sink in both our hearts a mottled grey
Poisoned porcupines 
So full of arrows we shot behind our backs
Can’t you hear me screaming?
I don't hear you, but I feel it
Roaring guilt-trips through my fault lines 
Quaking up my shaking boots

The shoes you've never walked in
The shoes that walked a thousand miles and fell down at your door
That's not a proclamation

It’s a statement of truth
Stamped along the brittle bones
You once swore you’d hold to
Now you swear I never knew you
I guess I’ll put my skin back on
A layer cake of armor and walls
Patch the hole in my sleeve where my heart used to be
Pack the cigarettes, leave your keys
Just remember one thing when I go:
As I tapped my Human Death Dance out your door
And you told me “This is it.”
When I said, “You never know,”
It’s because you never did.