Agoraphobia

 

Chloroform and icing,

the children are fed from my

plump, right arm.

Pill bottles and mottled sheets.

Love the void, bottom of my

flaking stomach.

Water, water, water.
Water is rebirth.

In the ice bath of indecision,

it cuts my veins from center-palm.

Puffed up flesh and broken crucifixes,

And a long, drawn out phase of

Asphyxiation of the wrist.

Oh, bad blood.

Extract what’s wrong.

What’s not pristine is bled.

She’s a bleeder.

Agoraphobiac, a screamer.

 

Medusa, beheaded in lavish

garden where ferns will replace

such blood loss.

Mmm, mmm, much braver

You become as you continue

Your long stretch of nothing.

Such envy I posses and huddle

between two guiltless breasts.

Hunkering over a casket of disease,

which I’ll add to the vast

subsidiaries of my body.

Feel better dying, please,

your comfort is what matters most.

She’s a bleeder.

Agoraphobiac, a screamer.

His eyes are like razor-blades,

Where the sun hides and reflects

All the hearts, candied and jarred.

Candied and jarred from his mental state.

For loveless lovers whose passion fades.

Nothing is beautiful…in a place where

The word does exist.

She, she’s a bleeder.

Agoraphobiac, a screamer.