Vulture,
picked at the soft spot in my stomach
released the caterpillars and
made bows with my intestines,
then presented them to me like some present.
Was I supposed to be grateful?
That you picked through my graveyard,
found the fresh rot that still existed
and exploited it to make me a victim again
but put your name on the tomb
and circle above to make sure
there was no witness.
You lingered to make sure I wasnt moving?
Make sure that the last bit of breath you gave me, escaped through my mouth, putrid,
and im sure you waited for the chance to dive if that last breathe ever dared to speak your name to anyone within ear shot
so the truth wouldn't remain.
If that last breath
would be used to write a statement.
If the last breath would choose to tell the truth,
while you cried wolf. You cried, you wolf.
In sheeps clothes. You never cared.
You watched with wings outstretched to dry
while blocking the view and
soaking it up, all for you.
You leech. You vampire.
I remove the mat from my door,
you cannot come in.
I cover my crown. put back the ceiling so that you can no longer circle the sky
looking to see if im dead. not still.
I had fallen, true, not for you.
But for the expectation that you failed to deliver, despite the bar being just below the surface
and like the rose, from the concrete, I rose.
Never needing fodder. No father. No daddy.
No ring but the one on my door that caught every last word you wouldnt dare speak to a peer but I hold, loaded, one in the chamber,
fighting my finger off the trigger,
for your sake, for whatever reason.