Antique

You caused the cracks and creases in my childhood images.

The downpour of this sworn secrecy never quite made sense,

with your ***** hands folding up

and crushing my lungs into compact boxes.

Lungs in storage, collecting dusty atoms and rusting over,

fossils forever imprinted in my metal ribcage.

I lost my voice.

I promised I would never speak vowels, nor syllables.

But you never warned me how my suffocating

lungs would force me to split my vocal cords

two.

So, I spoke in soft rushing winds, knocking

the heavy air out of my aged chest.

I wasn’t strong hearted,

you focused on the limbs tangled together -

you brushed off the blood from the blows,

and I gathered the words and

I went back to bed.

I covered with sheets of muffled thoughts and lead.

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