Closure II: Fetus In Fetu

enough to turn my head,
make me crawl inside
that dank hole,
back to that which birthed me,
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,

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

Patience is mine
for I am

as will she be.

┬ęCopyright Maggie Lawson 2018

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