by Megan Spreadbury
I spent so much time clawing at my soul
willing bloody fingernails to let go
while tendrils of damp skin
left remnants of past sin
as teeth sunk into bones
and made my humanity unknown
I spent so much time touching life
not knowing the knife
of time twisted its sharp edge
and wedged itself on the ledge
between my rib cage
while dissipating rage
the reaper handed poison remedies
for my home in insanity
clamped down on vanity
and whispered for an eternity
“who are you supposed to be”
I spent afternoon tea
inside dark corridors
cornered by lofty shadows
holding cross bows
as death loomed closer
spilled scalding tea over gossamer
a now shimmering darkness
creating a fortress
and all that was left were silent screaming voices
trapped with life choices
biding their time
with small compact crimes
that held no value
but formed broken avenues
so as time kept going
their souls were slowing
and stopped showing kindness
only wishing the timeless
slow of earth
would capture their self-worth
and preserve what little skin was left
not torn with marks of death
but still they withered, lacking depth
and all they found
wedged between time and ground
as they dug up black dirt
silencing each soul’s quiet hurt
was the worth on a cold ring finger
and the atmosphere of a reapers linger