"evading desire is a form of slow suicide"

i saw the crescent caught
cut moon watermarking
a reminder in the sky of my whole life
written on an orouboric ream of paper
a hungry torus
snaking around the neck
and shoulders of my facedown self as i flicker
back and forth between 2007 and 2012
five years moving like a deck of cards
between the hands of someone older than i am
with loose fingers and a trick
of the light to make a circle
out of a thousand spinning shards.

My high school bedroom is a tomb
and i elbow the door shut
to stop the draft

it was only once i called my mom in
to clear out the ghosts
that i stopped dying in here.

Every object in this house is a fossil
of who i was
at terrible war with who i'm becoming
and the question of Becoming
is the question of desire

isn't it always?