Here, I harbour a world with no one permitted to
listen to our prayers
Where mercy smeared our faces with content
The bottom of our feet spitting words of distress
Our navels whispering secrets
Eyes gobbling our spins
We bask in the unhinged
hide our insecurities between our
We have forgotten our names
Our voices keep you
and your kind
we do not need these faces.
When breathing becomes heavy to bare,
Like lungs full with enraged needles.
When the workings of your body bleed mercy into your mouth and
trauma sits onto your shoulders.
You sit with the pain and…
my death will be pulling
out of reality. My breath
leave all of yours cocooned
in last nights filth. Your
swallow your hands, skin, grime heavy. Your limbs soaked with
all empty will all ache all ache all.
We chew our aching tongues.
At times we write about our little joy, that’s the difference between those known died, and us, the dying. We are wounds with puss dry at the edges. In fear of running dry, we hold onto our tears, creating with our inherit pain. This is how it feels when sanity sings to us instead of telling us it left a while ago when our faces looked just like inner tombs oozing out with all neglect. When home disappeared and
Where can we find the truths to save us when our prayers sound like echoes of lies. How should I make peace with the sadness.