go back
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