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poem venting about assault and denial

by ebullientballoon

penetrated

the seeping carcass uncoagulated leaks a guilty mother’s tears

she supervised the wound and dressed it with alchemists dreams

non believing a golden retrieving

in the light of death it looks like lead.

tearing the wound, a universe of indignity,

a sharp phallus years in the reckoning

intestines twisting in the father’s fist

the loving hand shakes with indignant  malignance,

kisses on the crown for the slave to his denial and love

in the light of death it looks like hate.

ravished by rage, smashed against a wall, place your delicate baby back into its crib

whisper into its ear,

i fed you,

but you were never anything to me

i played with you,

in more ways than you will ever know

i clothed you after i took them off, 

and look, the cloth is made of gold.

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