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I don't want you to know that I'm going down/
All the words getting stuck in the back of my throat/
My blood turning still and lifeless within my veins/
I chased you without knowing the price to pay/
Oh baby I'm a tormented soul in this world/
It's so hard for me to let go of the stars/
Oh I'm going down in flames today/
Someone give me a reason to stay/
 Feb 2017 Alex Berthelot
Q
Everything you took from me
Summed up to everything I was
The hardest thing about it all
Wasn't letting you go
It was arranging a new me
You wouldn't ever know
monday morning
and my skin still looks like
something you could touch,
but we both know from experience
it would burn you if you tried.
my mouth in the mirror
is soft and still alive
and hides the ghostly grinning skull
we remember from our nightmares.

wednesday every pore is oozing poison,
and when you tell me
i look pretty in my dress,
i can feel the sharp edges of scales
pressing up through thin flowered fabric.
wednesday i slash my lips red,
and as in nature it's a warning.
i am only an animal and
i have been consumed enough times
that my body has
made itself dangerous.

friday is a heavy knit sweater
even though it is warm,
because friday my chest
is caving in
and i cannot stand
even the accidental brush
of someone else's skin on mine.
friday no one tells me
i look pretty
and i fill my lungs a little fuller.

sunday is disembodied echoes,
a bathroom floor,
and a body that has never been mine.
sunday is gorgeous,
because i am not real,
and i am not here,
and all the things that have
happened to this body
have nothing at all to do with me.
sunday i am nowhere, which is
as close as i have ever been
to free.
I've kept this pain away.
Held it at bay,
since the day
of Your
unwanted
touch.

Now You are old.
I take care,
as this is My loving
duty. Reversal of
roles.

Time has stilled
the tremors
of angst.
Turmoil and
discomfort.

Yet, when bothered,
Your harsh tones
enter My body
and heart,
unwanted.

Perturbation
with words,
accusations that
I was the
troubled one...

Grown Woman
that I am,
I find myself
11 years old
once again


Copyright © 2016. Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved
 Feb 2017 Alex Berthelot
Nox
You may think

I’m free as a bird.

Perfect all the way

you see no scars.

They don’t show

on my outside,

but my heart

has been torn

more than it can heal.
you have outgrown
the roots within me.
and as branches spiral upwards
searching for another place to lay,
your oaken memory will

Slowly.       Wither.        Away...
 Feb 2017 Alex Berthelot
Wake
Whether by needle or ***,
through vain or throat,
nose or lungs,

by heart or soul,
through brain or toes,

you are me

We're gonna' make it
through this life
if it kills us

intoxicated or sober
chained or free

Doesn't matter

*because you are me
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