I died when I was nine,
pickled in cancer I floated.
You kept me on the shelf,
next to the salt and pepper,
curdled in my own tears.
My pores weep strange poisons;
flies eat away my face
because you never buried me.
Ive been watching you.
I will boil roots inside of you
and become a child again.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 6:44 PM UTC
I died when I was nine,
pickled in cancer I floated.
You kept me on the shelf,
next to the salt and pepper,
curdled in my own tears.
My pores weep strange poisons;
flies eat away my face
because you never buried me.
Ive been watching you.
I will boil roots inside of you
and become a child again.