Saturday, February 27, 2010


she, delicate
licks the surface
of your crooked bones

cleaning them again
and again
until they are as white
as the pearls
around your mothers neck

your crooked heart
beats the sound of
your mother's fists
pounding on the door

a minute

ugly mouth
climbs up
the feminine form

she screams
the sound of violins
at the same time
your mother yells
"open the
god damn door"
and then,

you wake up.

going home
for the weekend
is such a bust.

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