ONE THIRTY.

Earrings lie naked close to a blue cup: Vaseline and coconut oil, one for my hand, the other for my hair.

The end of a tunnel is darkness or a baby: hugs are healthy, try a cigarette. If I sleep now, death will pass, for the time is ripe and the knife is sharp. One thirty, sorry one thirty one.

For a short warmth, I burnt my ladder, take a list, make a wish. One more drug in me, I’m a murderer; Don’t you shed a tear, for pain my dear, is truly painful.

She will forever be four weeks and one day; I hate men, they should all die. Biting my lower lip, I held a bucket for balance while I stood on the cold tiled floor.

I slipped and fell, my baby hates me. To reduce the pain, I bite my hand so much I bled. Four hours I rolled in pain, standing nor sitting, bursting my brain with guilt.

On the fifth hour I gave birth to a fine clog of blood, thick as a thief, too slimy, too perfect I took a picture and sent to David.

Fuck you, peters father said; I stole the money for the drug from my mother’s black purse; Maybe I should tell my sister, that she’s an aunty to a four weeks old girl named peter.

Blood should be black: Maybe I would be less guilty. Tears is a bastard, where is it when you need it?

I’m a believer: I prayed for an hour, least I die and rot in hell. I hate Thursdays! Its Christmas and I’m guilty. This cramp is from hell.

She came for a revenge, you were bleeding for a week, maybe you should burn incense or light a candle; say a prayer or two for the dead and for the dying.

Sex is not for my soul; every thrust has landed me in slavery, slave to a thought, servant to an emotions. I called David and cried; He said we are one in two bodies. The next day, he brought me a book and a note.

I will cleanup in tradition, ash and dust, wailing in sack clothes; masturbate close to fire and black, shaving my vagina, brushing my tongue, scrapping my hair, scrubbing my feet, cutting my nails.

Your body is sin! Arise at dawn and drink warm water: Ready your body for a new sin, I hope this one doesn’t break you, For every piece of me is a story so long, a night so dark, a heart hardened to God and perhaps to love.

%d bloggers like this: