I am a witness of all things unholy.
A messenger cursed to forever keep her mouth stitched shut.
I once was a miracle of life, a beautiful thing.
Hiding in the damp dark womb, away from the tragedies of the normal.
Then I was aborted, and became
This ugly unwanted mess of intestines and guts.
You might see me picking daisies in the dusk, collected in my dress.
You might glimpse me climbing the railings of the old bridge, above the murky black river.
I might fall. I might choke on the water, claw for the surface, just to fill my chest with clean air, pure oxygen.
My lungs would only be filled with sawdust, damp sand.
I am destined to die.
Destined to be hated.
I am cursed to always keep my mouth stitched shut,
And my heart locked up with staples and rusted bolts at the bottom of my sandy lungs.
I am destined to be disgusting.
Destined to be unloved.
Don’t love me. Don’t bother.
This dying world is slowly fading,
And I should soon fade too.
