I sharpen the knife you lodge into my intrails with the confines of my teeth smilling idyllic, with my cruor running apathetic on my breastbone; I'm a cushion for your injuries, a resting place for yourself to be at ease.
You aimed right the gesture a crochet of motherhood's woe and I pretend I'm unpenetrable, unfeeling, unfazed like the daughter that so aggravates your being, threatens your beauty and pain. I thought you came in amity, only you want to suck my youth from my age from the shade I paint on those lips you kissed my first heartbreak with. Call me names putrid as your gaze predates my silent emblems of safety, tying my tongue in the ties you taught me to ribbon carefully. Be a shamed body with no reason to refrain from taking initiative in concluding the mortal coil you say it so proudly.
You heard it right, she wants me dead; her own filament, her own line.
And I wonder what if I give in ? what if I did ? Would she condemn herself ? Or would she grief the girl she wanted me to be ?
16/12/2023
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Field Notes ▪︎ Prose (2)
PoetryKillin' a few with a smile is what's called romanticism of war 🫀 Short texts about my mental affliction
