Poem - Rubi

Sometimes I can feel Rubi trying to get out, get hurt. I’ll notice a twitch, a thump. My fingers can’t keep still. Thumping my fist on my thigh, beating in time to… what? Feels good, the pounding. Must keep her in, down, away. If she comes out, I’ll hurt her/she’ll hurt me/we. No sense of self-preservation. Fascination… shiny blade, sparkling fire, destruction. Hurt me, hurt them, what does it matter? Put down the lighter, Rubi. Finding holes burnt into clothes, ash from paper, soot on my fingers. Turn on the music; she likes to sing. Turn it up loud, loud as it’ll go. So loud the windows buzz. Sing along, yell to be heard. Rubi sings, I sing. Can’t hear myself singing, it’s just loud. Music has a beat, beat on my leg, beat my fingers on the steering column. The hurt feels good, pain travels up my arm and locks Rubi in, feeds her. She needs the pain, the music, the beat.