Two Old Men Eating Soup, 1819-1823 ~ Francisco de Goya
Even my skull rebels
at the sound of my
dying brain…
It tries to retreat
from the song of hell
sung from the tongue
of lost memories.
Where is mom?
She once lived
in the mortar
between reality
and recall, but
now I mewl for
her arms that
never hold me.
Is this the lake
of fire evangelist’s
told me I would
swim in if I didn’t
swallow their amen?
My arm still delivers blood
when hands bury a needle,
so the ability to breathe flames
must be my resurrection.
Look into my eyes and
watch me disappear….
I’ve already forgotten your face.
It was lost in the pruning.
©Susie Clevenger 2016
Bjorn's Nightmare Challenge @ Real Toads
Comments
I love this section, too:
"now I mewl for
her arms that
never hold me.
Is this the lake
of fire evangelist’s
told me I would
swim in if I didn’t
swallow their amen?"
Awesome, Susie!
"so the ability to breathe flames
must be my resurrection."
much love...
"She once lived
in the mortar
between reality
and recall"
This, of course, makes me think of my mother.