It feels infinite
sorrow of being finite
You are small, fragile

To rebel against
the fading lights, fading glow
and your dim shadow

Words are displaced air
Bodies consumed by the earth
What is their to show?

The universe, vast
infinite to your small mass
Yet, atoms still bounce

So must you, go on
to a span longer than most
Continue, always

Vibrant eyes sparkle
like the stars, explode in death
Do not fizzle out

Say "****" and say "Love"
with reverence, frequency
Use all of your breath

Shrapnel and scars deep
the chemical reactions
blacken your innards

A pile of rust, coal
The smell of smoke lingers on
where you caught aflame

Finally.

He raises his voice when you drop a plate,
water from the sink dripping-soap bubbles
foam on your wrinkled skin.
Shrapnel on the floor, you wait.

His skin is darkened from long days in the sun,
he labors dawn to dusk, forming callouses,
rough on his tarnished skin.
His grip is strong, you shrink away.

Peel away the fingers which puncture and
bruise the delicate skin-rosettes forming
in deep purples and blues.
You can only wear sweaters, it is summer.

The children in the next room begin to rustle,
they hear and whimper in fright-you try to
quiet the commotion.
He busts your lip, you remain silent.

In the dark, in the quiet after the storm,
you long to burst out the back door into
the mosquito filled night.
Your fears enter, he would find you.

He sets steel traps in the woods to grasp
the innocent feet of animals and steal their
skin to display on the walls.
He owns many guns, they lie loaded.

In the shadowy corner the barrel leans, gleams
in the yellow light of the overhead bulb-you stare
intently at it, finger twitching.
"Mommy!" you hear, and break gaze.

The taste of blood in mouth,
Beads of sweat, shaking breaths.
Delivered from the womb,

The world quaking inside.
Eyelids that flicker, cold shivers-
Aching bellies, belligerent

Body consumes, rotting gut
With foul, fermenting stench.
Siphoned out and shot up-

Tie a ribbon around tight,
Pale skin, veins protruding;
Lukewarm, opaque skin

Covering blue aqueducts.
Tape mouth shut, singe
The hairs that raise in gooseflesh.

Bite down, the tongue writhes
In the white chains, blood draws-
A breath exhales, exhales.

Fingers softly guide slender
Metallic forms to soft, fertile
Groves , the crook of an arm.

Eyelids close, fish swimming up,
Up, upstream to breed and die.
Numbness descends, the rattling

Of the world halts a moment-
Inhalation, the broiling gullet quiets.
Then a jarring , bottled through bottleneck,

Back into the womb; an odd
Artificial jar. Suspended in viscous
Liquid, reeking of the dead-

unnatural in pallor, wax
Figurines which lay motionless.
Now, taken to the shelf. The lid

Is ******* on tightly, sealed shut.
Oddities placed upon display,
Hidden away for night fascinators,

Those witches and witch doctors.
Floating limply in sickly yellow,
Skin looks stained with iodine.

Exhale, exhale again until empty,
Lungs collapse and gasp for oxygen.
Resist with fervor, deny deny deny-

The power is not in wispy fingers with
Dirt embedded nails-chipped away and
Chewed upon. Nature's coursing chemicals-

Instinctual will to live, for what?
Brain deprived, Senseless to survive,
inhale the ammonia and ***** of serpents-

Artificial cultivating of embryos,
Only to be born into dirt, onto the
sides of trash strewn streets,

Dampened with spit and rat ****.
The zygote will transform, before birth-
Rigidly imposed changes prevail.

Inhale, inhale, inhale. Taste the
Putrid regret, the rot gut intensifies
(it takes more now than before).

Acrid lungs and rust colored blood-
Coagulated, dried in the mouth.
***** blackened chunks onto

Oak wood porch of elderly lovebirds
Who will curse and pray and curse
And pray, yet shrivel and die naturally,

Shrinking into their flaccid skin
At the approach of the jars contents,
At the infant of chemical wombs.

A sign out front reads "A child is god's gift".
Infanticide predestined, premeditated,
More than Amelia, more, more.

Shaking hands, shoot up again,
Who was that who hollowed out
Your skin? Once gleaming eyes burn out,

Burn out, are ugly ashes in the wind.
Is this what you wanted?
Little pock marks bleed again.