Clutched to the ***** of my mama,
Rocked lightly to sleep - It’ll all be over soon, this is for the best -
We hum soft hymns, link hands and dutifully maintain
Distance from the other families. One metre
Between our island paradises, one metre
From Together. At sundown, we cross
Our legs and curl up around the fire,
Listening to the good word of our prophet.
His robes reflect the glare of the lights,
Enveloping him in a soft, radiant glow.
His kind smile caresses me gently as he whispers
Of safety, precaution. It’s for the best.
We settle into routine, the comforting monotony of sameness.
We awaken, canaries in cages, preening ourselves carefully.
We stir lightly, attending to our chores within the confines of these blank walls.
See as the squirrel stumbles down the tree, scratching insistently
At the knot between two branches. Rusted fur glistens in the sunlight,
Warm and alive, almost close enough to hear the pattering of her tiny heart
Trapped between within her matchstick ribcage. The salivating dog lumbers after it,
Snapping and frothing at the mouth, eyes bloodshot, filled with hunger.
His blackened lip curls back in a snarl, matching every move she makes,
Bark torn up beneath his cruel claws.
A leaf falls and I flutter with it,
Plummeting down to the floor beside the beast.
Clamping his mouth shut, I release a shuddering sob. He whines,
Suddenly a child reaching for a ****** to nuzzle, an alarm screaming for
I feel him settle behind me, his kind warmth replaced by cold anger.
Our leader, whom I love dearly.
His hands pin down my wrists, wiry meat on his bones,
Don’t leave. Don’t leave. I kick and I scream,
The cries tearing out of my throat chased by hoarse pleas,
My gown feeble and sheer beneath the blades of his fingers.
Sliced open, I’m butchered by him, each sliver of flesh separated cleanly from
The bone. Laid out on a table for all to see, the audience
Watching with rapt attention as he skins my prone body.
Sweet strips of muscle are passed around the circle.
I wear my dress like a suit of armour, but everyone sees
It as the pitiful bandages it is.
That night, mother draws the curtains with one fell swoop.
The canary is shrieking now.
the line breaks might be a bit off but this is about quaratine! but written as if i'm in a cult. has some funky images.