At a minute till three,

that's when the demons come for me.

They come in all shapes and forms,

forked tongues and chariots of rotting thorns.



They come to my makeshift stand of vials,

but tonight they look displeased.

"Needs more, needs more, needs more,"

they glare with hunger.

"What does it need?"

I'm beginning to sweat desperately.

One with a rotted forked tongue and acid eyes stares at me,

waves a skeletal hand and they merely leave.



The next batch I bring,

it glows a brighter, toxic green.

They come hungry, slithering and crawling.

They ask me what's in it, forked tongues and skeleton fingers sprawling.



I grin and say,

scorn of a grandfather,

shame of a grandmother,

dying pride of a father,

and the lingering hope of a ***** mother.



They buy me out,

one even whispers,

"How stout,"

and they lick the green out of the vials,

all  clean.



But that's alright,

this is what I wanted.

But sit tight,

even though this story is over;

the next one begins in brighter, maybe even perfect

fields of red clover.

You picked me off of the damped earth,

dusted leaves and years of dust away,

sealed my cracks with kisses and tape of woven eyelashes.



I was afraid,

but I wanted to love you too.

So I said I would love you,

no, i promised.


That I would love you if you promised me this --

that you would never, ever leave.




your fingers were crossed.

Her cigarette laced breath,

her promises that she'd quit,

broken,

I remember it clearly.

Hair bleached with the roots brown,

fried,

I remember it clearly.

Green of her eyes murked with swampy brown,

Surrounded by eyeshadow and poorly drawn eyeliner,

Surrounded by crows feet and clogged pores,

I remember them clearly.

Barbie nose,

Bridge lithe,

sharp,

I remember it clearly.

Everything about her was frail.

Wrists of a 9 year old,

bones of a 70 year old,

her body wasn't her age.

I remember.


I remember,

Her crooked back,

Stooped with age and baddened posture,

I remember it clearly.

Her rotten teeth,

Her eating disorder,

What did you eat today?

It was a habit to ask

She doesn't think I remember,

But,

I remember.

I remember my mother.

You left me.

but I remember.