She tells my mother
that your feet are shattered
in a way that is supposed to comfort her
our mother,
because the upper body still looks alright.
*
She tells my sister
that she can’t see you yet
as if she could take it,
as if frowned upon,
as if a child asked for some candy,
and in the most casual way
she says that you’re still soaked in blood,
they need to clean you first.
*
was there
ever
a
good
time to
see
you
like
that?
*
how
many
people
walked
past
your
bag
as
you
lay
crushed
in
the
valley?
*
They carried your leather bag
your mints, your bus pass, your headphones
that’s sign language
that’s when she knew
that’s when they left her on the kitchen floor
as if they had just dropped off some homework before lunch.
*
Is this too hard to read?
If
I
don’t
write
it
out
I’ll
b u r s t.
*
I know that you feel released now.
The end of the human form.
You’re free.
You rid yourself of human emotions.
And I feel like I am overdosed.
Humanbeingful.
Croque-Melpomene 