I need to see the blood.
Need to see it pool up from
My warm skin, just over
The blue vein that carries
This rueful life through me.

A thin sewing needle,
Little steel splinter,
Would press so very
Exquisitely to my
Fragile, pining flesh.

You must let me do this,
Must let me draw out a fat tear
Of sanguine wine that will tint
My anxious lips and
Intoxicate my eager tongue.

i could feel myself being eaten alive.

teeth sunk into my calf, and my arm,
my neck and shoulder.

i wanted to scream, but i couldn’t
because i knew it was worthless.

i saw my brothers next to me,
already dead and mangled,
their blood mixing together between them,
and i screamed silently into the night.

my mom was there too, long since dead.
so were my grandparents.

why was i the only one left to witness the horror?
why me?
why could i not die and be at peace
like my little brothers,
my mommy,
my granny and papa?

i could hear the snarling growls
and the crunching of bone.
i heard the monsters talking to each other,
talking about how tasty we were...

as the monsters feasted, i could
feel the flesh separating from my bones,
unable to scream as the monsters
pulled muscle away and dipped their hands
into my still-warm organs.

and then

nothing.

Little slippered feet,
Broken under the weight of years.
Little shuddering turns,
Jerking and halting over a deep velvet sea.

Little porcelain face,
Frozen in a painful smile
And chipped from the agony
Of a thousand lonely waltzes.

I lay here on my mattress,
Curled up under a powder blue sheet
That’s too thin to keep me warm.
False raindrops hit my eardrums
Whispering their too-good lies.
“He’s coming,” they say.
“He’s waiting,” they say.
“He wants you.”
“He needs you.”

Lying little raindrops.
But, oh, such a sweet sound…

Soon I’m lost,
Drinking in the melody of untruths
That plays inside my head.

I’m falling off this pillowed cliff
Waiting to hit the ground.
Too bad you aren’t there
Waiting at the bottom,
To keep me safe and sound.

The raindrops lie.
They cheat me out of good dreams…
I trip off the edge of the cushioned cliff
And stumble into sleep.

(And even there I can’t reach you.)

The scars will knit together again
And the bruises will fade away.
The ringing in your head will clear.
You’ll live to see better days.

That may be true, but you need to know
That those aren’t my only wounds.
The scars and bruises and blows to the head
Are nothing to what will come soon.

Look. You can’t see the scars anymore.
I told you that they would fade.
You see? They’re hardly there at all.
There’s no need to be so afraid.

No need to be afraid, you say?
You know nothing of the dreams.
The ones that wake me in cold sweats
With tears and strangled screams.

What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you happy?
You’re better – good as new.
You’re fully healed. Perfect and sound.
What left is there to do?*

I wish I were whole the way you think.
The scars are gone, true enough,
But the dreams persist and they always will.
Deeper scars – eternal and rough.