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

Here

We bask in the unhinged

hide our insecurities between our

teeth

We have forgotten our names

Our voices keep you

and your kind

breathing

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.