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3 part poem

(will be most likely merging together)


i hold her in my arms
til she can fall asleep
and though she isn't
there when i wake up
i can still feel her
the prescense looming
behind me but i cant
see it through the
reflection in the mirror
she carasses the holes
in my shoulder blades
where my wings used to be


eat what may be left
inside of my throat
i can still dream
that i may speak
i still dream about her
and sometimes when
i am quite i can
still hear her breathe
i still dream about you
my womb eater
eating itself to death
and all i want is
it hurts to give
when there is nothing
left here that
you would want...
and she still whispers
to me at night
i feel her against
my shoulder blades
you tell me everything
i won't remember it
in the morning...
and all i want is
all that is left
is the secrets
i cannot share
i cannot speak of
someone tell my father
and my mother
someone tell god
if he is still listening...
i just want someone
to finally hear me
that child that i once was
she's still there somewhere


you could be the calcium in my spinal cord... breastfeed me, i'll drink your spillages. oh, i have a mommy, not one that you would like very much. though it doesn't really care for shallow politeness or play pretend. it may not like you either, no show; don't tell. face of god... may just be a mask. how sometimes i can still hear her breathe so desperately, trying to get out of my lungs. perhaps she doesn't remember. she wants to hide... though, i don't really know her anymore, she still whispers to me at night that you're not one brave enough to face me. even if she isn't either. melting from the surface to the spine harshly crawling up my back before it cracks. i think it may just be harmless pressure now... still, i hear her using my voice to console herself. god is my mommy that i crawl back into... it is wordless when i scream and beg, and call to it... i just want my body back