I was forced to accept you as my home.
To reduce it to four walls. The bomb inside.
Ticking. In your heart, in your stomping
Feet, the body born to burst, any second now,
I would never show you the place where I want to rest.
Worms got to you ahead of time. They got to you.
You let them in. There would never be a recovery for you.
And still people kneel in front of you as if you were an altar.
A body on a cross. What good ever came of you?
You know the words, not the actions. Not the sentiment.
Your cock rules your world, the bile in your gut, your dedication
To destruction and overshadowing. You trapped me in the lion’s den.
Get off my skin, get out of my hair, don’t make yourself
Comfortable within me, your hands and fingers, your
Talking mouth, the hollering tongue, cheek to cheek, the
Other turned, your demands of me, daughter of mine,
Just like me, daughter of mine, within my reach, daughter of mine,
Within my power, I consume you, entirely, don’t forget that
I taught myself how to bite.
“Kniende mit hinunter gebeugtem Kopf” by Egon Schiele (1890-1918)