nat raum
skeletons
your top drawer was for peppermint gum wrappers
and spent oil cartridges, all that you hid rather
than throw away. i lay beside you, lulled by rhythms of
gnashing teeth, training your jaw to chew through
me each night, sinew and marrow and all.
i grow fearful i’ve become nothing but bones aching extra
on your birthday, the day i went to the hospital, the day
you left. at first i’d written us star-crossed, lion cubs
within sanctuaries of medicated taffy chews and the glow
of idle television screens. we’d swallowed half our words
by september, thrown elbows by october, gone numb
by the arrival of january’s austere grip. your covetous hands
reached for awards i only give out posthumously, rungs
of blight up my spine which push me over before day’s end.
i am bound you by the dull throbbing of my knuckles
twice as much as the folded scrap notes you left, lost
to ash one drunken night last winter. you’ve met the test, tale
told in fragments of night terrors, in labored breaths too
shallow to cry mayday. each day i bury artifacts of ours,
each night still met with static. i gnash my teeth now.
and spent oil cartridges, all that you hid rather
than throw away. i lay beside you, lulled by rhythms of
gnashing teeth, training your jaw to chew through
me each night, sinew and marrow and all.
i grow fearful i’ve become nothing but bones aching extra
on your birthday, the day i went to the hospital, the day
you left. at first i’d written us star-crossed, lion cubs
within sanctuaries of medicated taffy chews and the glow
of idle television screens. we’d swallowed half our words
by september, thrown elbows by october, gone numb
by the arrival of january’s austere grip. your covetous hands
reached for awards i only give out posthumously, rungs
of blight up my spine which push me over before day’s end.
i am bound you by the dull throbbing of my knuckles
twice as much as the folded scrap notes you left, lost
to ash one drunken night last winter. you’ve met the test, tale
told in fragments of night terrors, in labored breaths too
shallow to cry mayday. each day i bury artifacts of ours,
each night still met with static. i gnash my teeth now.
Biography
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nat raum (they/them, b.1996) is a queer disabled artist and writer currently working towards their mfa at the university of baltimore. their work is based primarily on their lived experience with c-ptsd, chronic illness, and queerness, and often takes the form of small-edition image/text publications. recent projects have explored queer escapism, healing, and gender transition. nat's work has appeared in publications including sledgehammer lit, warning lines magazine, delicate friend, and gutslut press. they are also the founder and editor-in-chief of fifth wheel press, a queer lit/art publishing space. nat is an avid fan of glass animals, noise-cancelling headphones, indica-dominant hybrids, and bisexual lighting, preferably all at once. find them on the web natraum.com and on instagram and twitter @gr8earlofhell
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