I suspect something living with my ribs,
Softly, solemnly, scratching through my chest.
In hindsight, I think of sleeping in my crib,
Awake in sweet summer, unable to rest.
And always the sweep, scrape, claws against bone.
Nurses shocked shall my heartbeats cease.
A shattered childhood spent so silently alone,
My mother cradles me, so ill at ease.
One night, perhaps, these ribs will shatter.
Spraying stray shards of a soft human thing.
Perhaps by then, it simply won't matter.
So we'll see how long this empty shell can cling.
YOU ARE READING
Scattered Ponderings
PoetryA single note, it reads *Remember to write something profound here* (cover credit is to @adnali - if anyone's reading this, check out her stuff, it's so good) (spn & fandom is marked in title)
