if i turn the music loud enough
i might go deaf. i'm hoping so, but it
wouldn't drown my inner voice.
the one that looms,
this man upon my shoulder,
the one i won't succumb to,
the one who decides that
my flesh is ripe for the tasting.
he invades me,
this patriarch of the insane,
and i am swept
under the carpet by
his gangling limbs.

he's a gargoyle or an infant,
neither, or both. i'm not entirely sure.
i pick apart his brain and
he picks apart my insides.

i'm torn again.
they've taken me, a lattice leaf,
and stored me in some
rotting box along the way.
i can't pinpoint the prick of sound,
the way it washes to and fro.
they hold a candle to me.
i start to melt.

and i've been put through
the fire one too many times.

you're supposed to be
my sister, my own blood.
ties that bind, loyalty, all of that...
you sold your soul to the cheapest bidder,
(i can see how the
complications would arise.)

that sale was your damning note
know i'd buy you back if i could.

10/09/2003

Posted on 10/09/2003
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe