I'm chasing fireflies
like I'm trying to hold on
to some semblance of strange youth.
[She tells herself the Bogeyman had
metal teeth and it was him
chewing on her thighs
when she was five;
crying bitter tears.]
I cradle this beer
like it's a baby;
both hands so it doesn't fall.
My last refuge from
those vivid dreams;
she speaks so soft.
(Stand up and scream
I WILL NOT BE YOUR VICTIM
TONIGHT!)
[She curls against the
concrete wall
hiding tears in
herpillowlikei
can't feel them in my veins.]
I bleed her traumas
onto thick papers
like it's my own
torture to spread.
My own nightmares
turned to poetry.
[She's burying her lightening bugs and unicorns
in needleveins and rain.
And she can't feel his hands
when she's riding liquid.]
(Stand up and scream
I WILL NOT BE YOUR VICTIM
ANYMORE!)
I hold her when she sleeps,
peaceful,
lick away the sweat
from her neck.
Keep her
Clean
pristine.
[She laughs at me
in those hours before sunrise
and she wraps my childhood
around her like
a safe blanket.
She shows me
how I must have looked
when innocence
still licked
the sky.]
I watch the stars
like they're new cities
waiting
for
me
to leave this tortured lover
to the dirty streets she
CRAVES.
If you have enjoyed S. M. Gilham's Poetry, then please be certain to e-mail her at Silverozara[at]aol.com and thank her for posting her Work.
Click here for a list of all of S. M. Gilham's Stories and Poetry at Sapphic Voices Authoresses.
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