You try to hold my hand, but begin to feel yours instead. Their dated and turn to fist around my wrists, you wait long enough for my pulse and breath to begin to resemble your rhythm.
It does.
So much more of you begins to hold me down you become
You're over the moon,
yet I am on it.
Gasping for air.
I, without air. You secretly rejoice
and you can feel the eyes, and return to earth for your routine, public display of affection.
You walk in circles and pray loud enough to the Gods you truly believe in, you have made us altars in hopes we will forget how much of us died for your sins.
so you keep spinning in circles and murmuring long enough to for you, not I, to forget how your love felt like, how it sounded all the times you didn't feel so pretty, or the coffee wasn't hot
I think you too are haunted from all those nights
you treated me like anything or anyone other than a daughter - from dirt to your husband to your mother.
You hid behind a large camera. I remember you filming us, hoping that the recording would help you remember who I was. Not your husband or mother or the dirt.
I didn't live in. A home, I lived in a ring, match after match after match.
As if beating the child out of me, would revive any life in you, or help you salvage any innocent of the decaying battered child within you
My ears still ring from your screams -- too loud to be deafening
Sometimes you would hear our cry
and I hear a door slam
and engine start
you feared nobody else would love you
Even your footsteps to my room can teach lessons.
This was when I learned
You are the kind of sorry that serves itself.
To feed their own conscience.
You are that kind of Hallmark mother's day card.
Mother Mary full of grace and dollar bills.
One back and you turn face.
I don't blame you.
But the truth is I lived my whole life having no heartstrings to pull, just hair.
It grows more than I do.
And no matter how far away I am, I find another you to destroy me.
I try to escape through.
Cause I am resilient even if I do
hide again,
in a future bathtub
Longing for a memory without the taste of blood in my mouth. I don't find one in time for the past and present to meet on the floor once more.
snowghoul
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