My brother walked through the front door,
and ripped off clothes. I heard splattering.
Liquid pooled around his knuckles, soaking
into flesh before it splashed onto the white
tiled floor, mixing with animal hair and dirt.
I followed the remains, the drops, the evidence
to a pine tree with broken bark and red scabs.
Across the snow, blood sprayed innocence
red. It wept sap and I placed a hand on its scars.
it told me what it was before.
YOU ARE READING
Faces of Autonomy: A Poetry Collection
Poetry"The bones break, building upon one another-each vertebrae snapping, stacking, until my limbs reach the highest shelves." -From Chameleon. TW: Abuse, Grief, Loss, Violence. Poetry was never a genre I thought I would get into. I read very little po...
