She’s come around again,
to burrow her dull claws
into my heaving gorge.
I revoke and recant you
In a catechism played
by swollen fingers on yielding flesh.
Cursing the body that hangs, abused,
On my unrelentingly static frame—
with a whispered song in my fevered marrow—
Mia.
With my nose so close to the
eye of the storm,
My palms against freezing porcelain,
As I deny and defy
—my only friend—
in a temple that smells of soap and shit.
Spewing my innards into
a septic mezzocyclonic storm.
I am not you—I am not you—I am not you—
fat girl
Smirking as I pat my thinning waist—
I am not you—I am not you—I am not you—
Mia.
Chanting songs of fate and freedom
As my soul dissolves in stomach acid.
(Final ablutions done in a scummy sink,
to the cold and congealing breath of—)
Mia
the putridly congealing breath of—
Mia |