|
There are nights, so vacant and hushed, |
|
I can feel the texture of my tattered soul moving within me. |
|
Black tar, dripping, sticky and thick. |
|
A soft, slow secretion of indifference slopping through the hollow suit |
|
I use as a body. |
|
They say these are the words of a damaged mind. |
|
But not I. |
|
To me, this is insurgency. |
|
I used to dream of being inside the womb. |
|
Fetal universe, black holes and emptiness. |
|
Orbiting the massive planet of my mother's booming heart. |
|
Tiny yolk body, tethered like an astronaut, adrift in the tranquil spume of desolate bliss. |
|
Tiny fingers inching from chubby stems, reaching for that great thumping whoosh of blood and power that wobbled like a snarling god above me. |
|
My fibrous head translucent as a bell jar, would search with great staring eyes deep into the godless dark for a light, for a sign, for anything other than indifference. |
|
But the universe would never oblige. |
|
Look upon me: a daughter of a child and a monster. |
|
Frozen without cold feeling nothing unsure, uninspired, veins full of air, soul fading into the umbra |
|
Who are they to say what is moral when they are broken? |
|
Who are they to say anything about us? |
|
All this, all this, and |
|
I want to sledgehammer and leave nothing but dust to dust to dust to dust |
|
Strangled by a |
|
Bible Belt |
|
Strangled by a |
|
Bible Belt |
|
Strangled by a |
|
Bible Belt |
|
Strangled by a |
|
Bible Belt |
|
Strangled by a |
|
Bible Belt |
|
Strangled by a |
|
Bible Belt |