Diary Of A Mad Girl


Diary Of A Mad Girl

He slapped me once more as
Palms sticky with sap were digging soft mounds and
Fingers curled towards themselves searching bone.

Stumbling while blindfolded into brickwalls
Barefoot in the stagnant breeze of intemperate August
My diaphragm a dark tavern of saloon regulars
Scraping their heels against my heart.

If sex could be put in the mouth
Then its form can be felt by the tongue
The folds, dimensions and edges of syllables
The scent of springtime sweat or the bittersweet shape of words.

Distilling gin in porcelain bathtubs
The bathroom turned dank and stoic
I stretch my sand-smeared legs in relative obscurity.

Crumbling tenements and eroded pavement
Tokens of autumn and its ashy audience;
It threw at me grey-tinted rain drops and
Not rice to celebrate its reunion with night.

The barbed wire and indelible fault lines splintering my mind
Looks down over crimson stained bedsheets as water lilies.
As within white marble walls that beckon and breathe
My mother loves a man who raped me ten times.

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