The slant of the roof
slicing through my mind
cutting off all former thoughts.
I, huddling in the phantasms of his voice,
try to still the thundering of my heartbeat.
I bring my knees to my chest
tucking my chin as the blades pelt against the slant
and roll to the soaked earth before me.
My fingers instinctively trace my discoloured jawline.
My pulse burns like fire against my paper-mache skin.
I clench my fists,
curl them into little balls of pain–
sinews, brimming with anger,
the reshaping of the human heart.
I hear the far-off wail of an infant
as the water rises,
I feel myself submerged
in the great migration of my own metamorphosis.
I lift myself up.
The repetition of my footfall.
Still tasting the metallic flavour of his wrath.
“You —” He spat in my face.
I pick up a glass bottle,
smashing it against the spray painted sign of peace,
clasping a shard in my shattered self.
I whirl towards
The slant of the glass
slicing through my chains.
Thank you as always for reading and sharing your thoughts below.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”