take me back to somewhere in the far away past, somewhere before the monsters came
lurking in through the looking glass that shattered ‘neath the weight of so many eyes that
bullied me into the blind corners of a darkness unrelenting, held captive in the watchful glares
of their haunting hatred, where all I ever saw was my splintered selves in the bloody pools of some
surrendered madness and jagged truths that live like tiny slivers of glass just under my skin
so close to the surface, close enough to sharpen scars and welcome in the new wounds waiting in
the raw hunger of this devouring rot of hours lingering like a long, slow death never done with dying

8/11/2015 ©Debbie Berk