All entries for Saturday 15 August 2009

August 15, 2009

Scorched

This is for shouting. Or maybe I just thought of it as being shouted. Mostly. Oh well.



Every day you break my skin, every day you crack me open and feed and I know you need it but you breed in my cuts, in my toxic skin and I am becoming thin becoming bulimic you all you make me sick – I will spasm and out of my mouth throw you out spinning circling into nothing you will drown in vacuum and you will never be buried I have freed my skin from your filthy hungry nails

Is it wrong to just to just sometimes

You all live in dirt it – grows and it swamps me tides me over and drowns me in filth, I am so shamed you spit on me and again but I will sear you away I will crush you and wash my wounds clean I have seen myself I have been free of you I have been beautiful I will again one by one I will snap out of my skin all your filthy hungry nails

Is it wrong when you think when you tell me I should love you

And I deny all blame defy it I leave it snarled and twisted in coiled woods where the trees will pluck it apart I know I told you to live I know I spawned you weak and wet spawned you meek and set you here all new yes I know where you came from but I never told you this you worked this out alone with quill and skin when you sharpened up your filthy hungry nails

Is it wrong that I could have could always have told you to stop

Now you crack me open again but no I close myself to you I will cut you loose from me I will bite through the pulp the soft pulp you suck, it will dry and you will – remember – these things I told you in stones told you in all those clouds and waves in the shells you treasured they gleamed you shone but you never once read them when you picked them up and scraped them with your filthy hungry nails

Is it wrong  the way I laugh when you can’t swim

Still I won’t shake I not for you I will never shake I, cast cold and swimming round and round a mother still not dead I with burning brothers sisters in ice all of them silent I for you I will never shake you – can’t ever think I owe you, you, writhing there in my pores slick in blood in poison I, I have shown you the cyanide you love it now drink it now you will shake for me you who owe me for your birth you now will crack and take it pick it up you swallow and when you have finished you will lick beneath your filthy hungry nails

Is it wrong to like the quiet


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