Wires.

In the heat of the sun,
a newborn baby cries; screams,

haunts, the tearing of my skin,
into a new life.

I begin again..

___


But they still torture me at night; my dreams, my desires, my longings, my losses, my 'all that could have beens.' But somehow, I manage to sleep. Somehow, thankfully, I manage to sleep now. I manage to live with those things, and I manage to see reality for all that it is, for what it truly is, and I carry on, I soldier on. I carry on, not because I have to, but because I want to.

It is something hidden deep within me that carries me. That carries my bones, my blood, my broken, bloodied beauty. All real, all compact. All tortured, miscarried events of my life that run through me, every day, conscious, unconscious, uncompromising.

All and everything.

''..and after a while you feel that you're all bone, hard and desiccated, like a skeleton in a classroom.''

And we imagined the taste of one another to be different, didn't we?

A new born baby cries; screams,

haunts, the tearing of her skin,

into a new life.

She begins again...