Hornets 

There are hornets in my head,
over my shoulder, behind my ears, beneath my fingertips,
wings battering against the insides of my eyelids.
Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.

I cough up insects’ legs in the morning,
I lift my lips to find needles tearing through my gums,
spilling out in blood and bile and wings.

They fill my chest until it’s nearly bursting,
my screams replaced by their gentle humming,
beating against the walls of my lungs until my face turns blue.

I claw at my chest, ripping apart my ribs like lumber as they groan,
revealing a serpent’s apple, roaring from inside its cage.
They dart out from inside me, their footsteps like ghosts across my body.

When it’s all said and done, I zip myself back up.
I discard of all the blood, the sweat, the tears.
The hornets go back where they belong, rattling inside my skull.
Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.