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
