inventory

I removed my heart from my chest,
finding preference instead
for a knapsack
that I like to forget in the hall

freed of such baggage
as bought by the need to live,
my evening walks are far more relaxing


though it's the very devil
to clean the blood
from underneath my nails.



--
I dunno; don't ask me.

just

to burn like this
at a self-driven stake,
in the filtered light
of raindrops on the windshield

to gasp for breath,
struggle to remain existent
between the lines, tripping
though I was the one to draw them.

and I can't for the space between my bones
remember why;

it's just
always been this way.




--
Title is prompt. I'm trying new meds, and I think weaning off the old ones is wreaking havoc on my moods. Hormones don't help either.

imitation

messy, impatient
excuse for gift wrap--
a poor imitation
of festive spirit,
this form wrapped up
in ribbons of skin.



--
I don't even know. Apparently I'm morbid today.

saturate

pain
to the point no more can be absorbed;
each squeeze once
drew water in a silent torrent

compressed now
without the room to grow
these few precious droplets remain:
barren, beaten ache

but released,
there would be room for fresh sorrow;

perhaps it's better
if you don't let go.



--
Title is prompt. Seeing as I've never been in an abusive relationship, I seem to write about them a lot.

matriarch

dust
spat to the sky with heavy breaths
to linger, gather
draw forth rain
that tastes of our mother's mouth:
the life from which we came.


--
Title is prompt.

peek

mere gossamer for modesty--
sliding limbs grow stiff, soft
yielding
and the buzz of your day to day life is forgotten
until, as she quivers, flushed in the dark
the red velvet curtain
abruptly slides closed

over the bill slot
a green light flashes,
enticing you to match it,

but the scramble to return to fantasy,
finds your pockets empty.


--
Title is prompt. Hmm. Smutty. :)

sore

lying in the dew-laden grass
for at least the scope of a season:
summer enriches understanding
the night that sparkles through the gaps
of this breathing green canopy;

along with the things that seek to use me
to reach those heights--
just as I let them eat me, piece by piece
so at least some lesser parts of me
will one day scrape
across that glassy vista

when summer ends, I rise again
and pull the saplings from my skin,
whole except for breathing in
and just the slightest bit sore.

--
Title is prompt. Weirditudinal.