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September 3, 2025

poem in which you become the “you”

nat raum

  1. i am
    1. writing
      1. an ars poetica
        1. in which i bury you,
        2. in which i close the widest point of the wound myself,
      2. a farewell.
    2. still crying
      1. in my car sometimes.
      2. for your specter.
  2. the thing is
    1. i never saw your talons
      1. until it was too late,
      2. and now that’s all i can see.
      3. and maybe they didn’t exist,    
        1. but then
          1. why am i bleeding?
    2. neither of us are blameless.
  3. we both
    1. feel alone sometimes,
    2. cache scars in favor of so-called selflessness.
      1. what good does that do anyone?
        1. at least
          1. i explode instead of rot.
          2. there are still pieces of me in the end.
  4. you flit
    1. between
      1. lover and enemy,
      2. half-dead, half-alive.
  5. i dig
    1. a shallow grave,
      1. still in a sort of denial.
    2. for something that still feels like you.
      1. i end up
        1. elbow-deep,
        2. empty-handed.

nat raum is the poet laureate of the void; their corporeal form lives in Baltimore. Find them online at natraum.com or astral projecting inside a Royal Farms.