Work Text:
Above the blood stain on the floorboard in the attic
In the open oven with hair stuck to the rack and children crying for their mother
The body of water with now a body
The one whom we will never know
The people who are me but not
The ones before me and some far not after
I know their life but they know not mine
But here we are in the same predicament
The sliver spoon handed to me with nothing but regret
Mercy etched in the deepest part of the throat choking me as I swallow
The little orange bottle that erases that cry
I don’t take it
I don’t devour in it or indulge in it
If I did
I would kill myself
Yet I do anyways
But slowly
Very
Very
Slowly