Wake Up

Here I am, spitting the fury dragons out
at you.
Here I am, grating your skin
down to truth, scratching away your faux colour.
Revelations!

I lift your sweat stained sheets, rummage beneath and
cut you off at your ankles. Then, I feel for your knees, and
when I find them
I nail them to the perfect imprint beneath your
clammy body. I move upward, farther upward to your
stomach. I wish you had a womb so that you
could understand the
torture of what I am about to do.

Life lurks inside you, thousands at a time,
all patiently waiting in line for just one chance!
I brought a blow torch for this.

I watch your skin bubble and slowly drip out of
character, down your sides and leak into your sheets.
You still sleep.
You barely flinch, snorting oxygen like a pig.

I move up from your melting pot, straight toward
your chest. Your ribs have been a great protector!
I have grown my sharp tongue out, praying that
it would not come to this.

I have no use for your heart.
I only want your eyes to open and see
me sitting here next to your truth.

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10 thoughts on “Wake Up

  1. Fantastic. The violent, irrepressible urge to inflict a matching pain – that the person who inflicted the hurt, quite thoughtlessly, should be made to feel the pain that we do. Horrible but such an unflinching portrayal of that urge.

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