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
in
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.