Had my soul been a house.
It would have been filled with spirits of an anonymous kind.
Spouting monomers, not so refined.
“I love you.” spoken in jest.
“I love you.”
Bringing to my earth only dust.
I am not a house.
I am a woman made of pliable, blood pumping, stone.
Someone who aches like a dog…
When left too long.
I am a ‘speakeasy’ told to hush.
Constructed to perceive her father’s true existence.
How to comprehend one child’s life meeting with such resistance.
How love could have…
Maliciously, brick upon brick.
By a woman lonely for death.
a man, who should not have brandished a knife.