Closure II: Fetus In Fetu

Whispers,
enough to turn my head,
make me crawl inside
that dank hole,
back to that which birthed me,
borne
and entombed
in the womb of my wounding.

I watch my skin squirm,
writhing crests
climb to silvered peaks.
The death throes
of her dying days
enthrall me

Umbilicaled pain;
just a phantom
of a severed limb
or aborted life
cut off,
prematurely,

like the air
her lungs crave
as she suffocates on ashes
I stuff down her throat
in dry-eyed
delight.

Patience is mine
for I am
long-suffering

as will she be.

┬ęCopyright Maggie Lawson 2018

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