like a wire in the lung

 

there is hardly a chronology of abuse
not with the precepts given that is
it can be tender as a balm to a wound
like a hair slowly fondled back and forth
or cloth; soon manifesting in a jerking
the slap is not fully open palm, nor back hand notoriety
it is as though the abuser revels in the egomania of invention
of this picture of you and attempts to polish it with your blood
and bone; catapult it to some sinister trap.

Yet then the blame is all you, you and you
it feels as though as a virus fucked your immunology
and then put WBC as the scapegoats and the cold
as the final slice into your still breathing cadaver

like a wire in the lung perplexed in the ruse
traumatized in the cell; abused by the jaw that
favoured and caressed you choke and the choke some more
your experience of mere living in mind and body tattered to a bitter
fettered to the smack of a druglord that gives chemical overdose

no matter how punctured you are you make it out
with bruises and itches and scratches and scrapped arteries
and like the shedding of a cocoon you cast out the cloth of sin
and though you recover in mosaics of embroidered networks

You recover
By God, you do…▬

Speak yer mind

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