(s)mother

the midnight crawl,
soul tired, to the point of breaking;
worn thin by clawing fingernails and
gnashing teeth.

3 years of possession, loss of identity.
My body is no longer my body,
my skin stretched to unrecognizable lengths.

2 am, the ghosts in the corner are quiet,
but the screaming won’t falter.
mind on the brink of madness,
moonlight shining from beyond the veil.

raw, red wounds; old and new.
hair freshly matted, eyes pulsating to
stay awake. coffee can’t solve this
puzzle of exhaustion.

bloody fingertips, i am holding the needle.
but the tapestry has escaped my control;
there are no shears of destiny to cut
away the fate you forge for yourself.
you are the blood of your blood.

bliss, a moment of peace, before the
grinding
ceases halt
to wear again.

breath,

in.

breath,

out.

the monster is only that which you created.

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Published by

ianachronism

I am made of magic, madness, and moonlight

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