This disembodied self

Was I always empty and waiting to be filled?

With your milk cries and more cries and mam mama won’t shut your eyes cries

A blunt heel taunts the inside of my ribcage

And you never stop your pink finger prodding, pinching, punishing

A scream has aged long in the basement of my throat

It’s threats to come out have grown feeble

I feel my muscles soften, my bones deteriorate

As you seize the tenderest parts of me

My moon-white flesh here for your eating, drinking, sleeping, soothing consumption

My skin run ragged

I have receded and in the hollow my form has left lies you,

My health and vigour your inheritance

Published by chloeroselilly

Samples of my poetry, fiction and personal essays in amongst real life

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