the moments inbetween
i miss you
in those moments
between “Mommy’s Day”
and the next
“Mommy’s Day”
i hope you remember
i’m your Mommy
every day
i reach for your hand
to cross the street
an automatic gesture
as a mother of three
but my hand is met
with air that’s cold
and my heart
feels a little more empty
sometimes
i cry
into your favorite
stuffed animal
i used to cry
over a glass of bourbon
today i cry
into words
i made a place for you
in my own body
grew you proudly
despite the shame
of being an unwed mother
i gave to you
all of the love
in my heart
i watch you grow
and that love multiplies
as you give it back to me
in whispers
and in shouts
and when the mornings
are quiet
and empty
the hours
until i see you
stacked against me
when my mind
reaches for comfort
in some thing you said
or did
recorded
in my facebook memories
i facetime you
just to hear you say,
Mommy,
i miss you, too
Tempest, Thresh
Your teeth bite. Maul at the root of the bone-cord that ties the nape of my neck to the center of my back. Reverberating. Spasm-shock, tumbling down the staircase of my spine. It is earthquake-licked tectonics. I am continents shifting. I am eruption. Spinal-fluid vomit. I am corruption. Porcelain-fanged, fissure-made. Osteo-scaffolding, cracking. You, convulsion-crescendo. Break me down, shattered. I am devoured. I am unknitting. Laceration-itch wounded. I am heartstring, smarting. Fever-craze, deafening. And my bony sutures are unthreading in conniption-fit torrents. And when the edges fray it is skeleton-splintered. Slivers of want, ricocheting from arteries to heart. Calcium needles. Stab and hold. Stab and hold. Pin me down, wayward. Pin me down, unsettled.
In The Devil’s Lair, We Never Sleep
something was turning around in his mind, a thought, a scratch that he couldn’t reach
having sight but the shadows painted blind
mirrored the voices, shackled in speech
defenseless against the darkness that crawled under his skin, soft flesh was tormented by disease
echoed the pain within,
hurling over thousand shades of unease
the nightmares had returned, sleepless nights filling his veins with guilt and dread
shapeless moments quickly got burnt, fomented creation of hell inside his head
insanity knocked on the doors, vile tongues as if shattered glass floating in his bloodstream, payback was signed by demon himself
chunks of flesh scattered around the heaven floors, all rotten souls preserved soundless scream and lost their ways in classic death fermentation before the twelve
he fell to the floor, limbs twisted and bent, angels and demons both calling his name, what he had done, left a mark, an edge cutting knife under the skull
tracing old war, when everything was never meant, days of glory, like a dying flame, barely lighted up his lifeless hull
redemption, the angels sang,
cleaned your wounds, mended the broken bones
shouted out the holy light,
confused, he tried not to hear
devoured by the sins —
a luscious delight of the impending doom
damnation, the demons sang,
crawled across my ground, unleashed my hellish moans
soared high in the hollow night
where benevolence was left abused,
“now, clench your fear
dig deep into your wounded skin
strain your eyes, peer into the gloom”
the night drifted into a finale
yet the nightmares were reluctant to quit
cemented into his subconscious, ruthless killers of faith
body squirming, muscles in spasms
*another day arisen, foul sinner*
find your hope
or the endless turmoil of torments shall never end
something was turning around in his ever-fleeting reality,
a bottomless pit with its troubled wit
which smothered him senseless
so brilliantly obnoxious, a persephonic wraith
in symphonic bastardisation of his scriptural orgasms
taunting the angelic brigadier into existence in a dewlit morning like a pompous winning loser
walking the notochord of corporeal slob —
the lone(ly) sheep-clothed wolf barely felt content.
•
Anarosewood
&
Carpe Noctem
•
July, 2019
•