will the resentment
ever die?
will i carry our lovechild
dead in my womb
for all of eternity?
will we sit in this
dusty red room,
naked and wet with sin,
childish wonder and ache
until the end of time?
is your love the crutch that
carries my broken limbs?
are my memories of us
enough to erase
the scars off my skin?
do i love you? or do
i love the little girl
who died next to you?
the innocence stripped
from the outside in
you, forever damp
with my seven-year-old tears
you, the only living tie
to the lost, unearthed years,
you, the last remainder of
what could have been
me, afraid to forget
afraid to start
again