Friday on SD-Aurora Phoenix ❤
she etched an elegy
in her arm.
it was not that she wished she were dead,
it was that in her heart, she already was
with each draw of the blade
she eased mournful notes
skillful as a virtuoso violinist
from her love-starved skin.
this one, scratched doleful in minor D
laments a childhood forlorn
lost in the tumbleweeds
of mother’s hypodermic windstorm.
tentative lacerations mimic
the rent fabric of comfort
in which she was never swaddled.
that one, carved in hesitant desperation
released a cacophony of hushed howls
an orchestra of screeching duduks
protesting the predators’ parade
that prowled unguarded through her dreams
– day and night. –
cuts, breaking your heart if not
her parched and thirsting skin
berate the moon and sun
who sheltered her not, while each
beseeches the silent heavens
“was I not worthy of protection?”
she proffers her arm, bared
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