carapace

do not try to pry me open
a clam shell, hard now
from brackish years
left on the rocks
your hand, a poultice
will not be strong enough.
suffering seeps from my cracks
salty tears do not die today
unencumbered nails
painted or chipped away
not rusty
cannot pry my sides.
you do not segue into me
not smoothly
not a viscous slide
from the outside through me.
I open like the weather
whether you want or not
unaccustomed to the hammer
smashing me to bits
I do not sit
still like a flower.
the crocus
the lotus
only die upon opening
a birth of deaths
and god stays away
failing to grasp
the difference.
i wear a mark, a scar
in my box wings beat
but beat me down
into the down nest
and I don't look to god
to save a place for me.
do not open the box
a broken play toy it is not
for burning tinder
at the edge of time.
I step off
and a slumber arises
hooks into my ligaments
my hinges groan
wading knee deep into the sky
with a bleach bucket
and seven matches to match my cry.
I don't look up
to see the dead moon
from my perch inside the shut
no door to creak
don't try
I have handles from hell
on the inside
for only this purpose
and god will not break apart.
I do not open
there is not a cavern
deeper to dive
apologies stuck in my throat
will not survive.
the suction sucks in
an inhale from ribs
of my own fastening
this tightness
of how many walls
only I know.