Raskolnikov

I will always remember
the sweetness
of his psychosis

the way he paced
on the page
like a tangled string in a storm

I craved the keen understanding
of misery and darkness
shattered skulls
constantly aching from the overflow

I thought daily about licking
the ink from the print
of his voice
to taste the truth of his brain
to know
what it meant to be truly
mindful

I was sixteen
Advanced Placement English
and in love
with aberrations
and the lapse of social constraints
torn
by the thrill of thorns
words and hands
and the insane perfection of their places
in sentences and skin

my lust was shameless and new
a crime unpunished
every swelter justified by the infringement
of my youth
and the vodka in my veins
and yes,
I became a person
then.