She Hunts You Down
Consuming is what she does for leisure
Adrenaline-fueled and biting
at the end bits of my toes.
Day and night,
among the living and
My mother is gone
I remember her swollen fingers turning cold.
And still I wait for some impossible return.
Only she remains. She, the one who won’t let me eat.
She, who stuffs my gut with poisonous grief
until the thought of food makes my
She, Sorrow, wants to stay forever,
remind me of her liquid-hot blood running through
yes—those are still my veins.
She keeps you hopeful
waiting for my mother’s return.
My mother is still underground.
I exist in silence, searching for peace in the void
but Sorrow has me by the back of my neck.
My father doesn’t believe in Sorrow anymore.
He won’t carry me to my thrown in the therapist’s office
he says counselor, counselor
I say therapist and
he reminds me of the money She is costing.
She is still here, my mother is still dead
And I am chewed, sucked, spit out again by my own mind.