Groan

Birthed into black,
my head in a bag
unable to breathe
without feeling the
suffocation of your absence,
slowly spinning my eyes
backwards into the sky
where they cannot be
retrieved.

Raised on baby-bottles
filled with milked soured
by salty tears,
weaned by dirty pacifiers
and torn blankets,
with holes of your making
cut with the same scissors
that separated us
and my bellybutton still aches.

Grown and groaning
for the lost days
of light and fresh air,
your smudging hands,
and crocheted blankets
decorated with promises.
Offered to other
more fortunate babes,
that I will never be.

You ought to remember,
that I didn't choose you.

Your Bones

I live in the city, 

of your last known address; 

wandering the same streets, 

sitting in the same coffee shops, 

and asking the same questions. 

I wonder if it's your birthday today?

Sometimes I like to think, 

that when it rains,

we both wear raincoats, 

and when it's bright, 

we both wear smiles. 

Are our smiles the same?

I wonder if you would know, 

who I was if I walked past you, 

if you'd see your flesh and bones, 

your eyes, your nose, your mouth, 

or just another passing face. 

We may share many things in this city, 

but one thing we don't share, 

is a mutual knowledge of each other's existence. 

To you, I don't even exist. 

Birthday

Her eyes are wax like the birthday candles
that usher her into a year of trepidation.
Only full of light when they're first struck,
and smouldering with black smoke
as soon as the snuff comes.

It's all so easy when nothing matters.

The love has drained from her hands and her feet
as if she was totally bled dry,
and in the morning she won't remember
the moments of pure serenity or
the days of triumphant victory.

It's all so easy when nothing matters.

From the pits of her stomach she yearns
for the feeling of resolve and restoration.
A soul-cry that goes unanswered
because those ears certainly don't hear,
and those eyes certainly don't see.

It's all so easy when nothing matters.

Out-of-sight-out-of-mind
is a lie we feed our fearful hearts
and she's a glutton over the deception
that she buys in excess and bulk.
Her death is knocking steadily at the door. . .

It's all so easy when nothing matters.