Steven Sanchez
Self-Portrait as Lucifer
Hell is a halo in the night,
the orange ring on a cigarette,
a gentle asphyxiation I learn
to endure, to enjoy, to need.
And when I finally say enough,
it isn’t, because lies, like words,
are meaningless
with repetition—they become
an unfamiliar language. My name
comes from Latin: bringer
of light, the moons released
inside of me, the men I have forgotten.
Bareback, I’ve offered my neck
for them to clasp in prayer
until I swear I can almost feel
something, like the first time
I choked on a Camel Crush
and recalled how much I love
air, because I think I’ll care
about my life again.
And, for a moment, I do—
my heat held in hand
like a menthol
ready to ash.
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