Inside my ribcage
Screaming, death, pain, agony
like boxes stacked up
One by one
My rib cage feels boxed up
Inside, it’s dreaming
And then
Smashed
My ribcage is aching
It’s boxed up
With nowhere to go
With postage that’s too little
And with an address that is incomplete
Why did I give you my bones?
You took it
But didn’t take care of it.
You rejected it
You ground it down
Into your own sick serenade.
my agony
Links to the muscles that
Pull your lips
Into that
Grin
Why
Did
I trust
You inside my
Cage?
I’m stuck inside here
Like a true
Living death
Until I make my imprint
On a stranger’s lemon lips
Like a Rorschach
Painting,
And my boxed up insides
Will finally fade away,
A celebrated Unbirthday
I will unbox these tired bones myself.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Melissa Ingoldsby and writers in Poets and other communities.
Do you understand haiku?
Do you ever get sidetracked when writing? I do. I think it must be in the nature of the creative mind to draw connections and have a need to explore them. Since the World Wide Web became established in the 1990s, this has become a lot easier to do. The phenomenon being described as ‘going down a wormhole.’ Sometimes a distraction, but I have written some of my best work when I have disappeared down one web wormhole or another. It also happened in the days when most of my research was book based so we can't blame it on the internet. Book research was just slower. These days, guided by my AI friend, it is much, much quicker.
By Raymond G. Taylor4 days ago in Poets
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.