Sour Cherries // Poetry // Compilation #5

Slip under the surface

You tore my tongue when you clipped my throat.

Punctured skin, bone, so your fingers could wrestle with my brain.

Shattered spine from spine so I could not walk freely.

My eyes can see only my own struggle, so you ripped them from my skull.

Crippled the bones in my feet, when all I could do was crawl.

A bloody body bloodying a bloodied body.

The bath water is a wine I toast to the impending.

You are not helping,

you have not tried,

you are as weak as I,

for we are already broken.