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madness
October 27, 2014
Today I was born in ridicule's face
He scraped my eyelid and buckled my chin
My hand, full of scabs and terror and place
My nails were short and hair wiry and thin.
These were the months of a formative year
With my skin the color of worn-out bleach
My mouth got drier and thinned for the spear
It seemed he was here to narrow my reach.
A scalpel and forcep held in his fist
His incision a cross over my chest
I was too consumed to think to resist
The mincing and dissection of my best.
Today I was killed in ridicule's glare
This life is not free or sorry or fair.
© Cheryl S., Chiltonville, WI
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