Why
i ask you each day
you look at me
your face a harsh stone mystery
why
i reach out to touch you
sighing
let my fingers fall across
the harsh features
soften them
bring life to them
as i reach
you raise a hand
it goes across my face
blood in my mouth
the pain in my heart worse
a stomach tight with tension
torn
i’ll spit blood for you
that’s what you do to me
i huddle on the ground
a small ball
tears
my world
a womb of pain
from which i can’t be born
why am i
the wellspring of your hate.
– shutter lady
