Ache Is A Shrew Residing In My Chest. She Burrows, She Festers, Sheradiates Until Her Scent Intertwines

Ache is a shrew residing in my chest. She burrows, she festers, she radiates until her scent intertwines with my organs, until each breath, each beat of my heart is reminiscent of her.

Ache claws at the delicate pink satin surrounding my ribs; she does not care that my blood begins to run.

I howl to an empty room, "Tell me where to put the pain, Tell me where to put the pain, Tell me where to put the pain."

The shrew whispers back, "It will be okay", but she does not tell me how to care for her, nor does she relent.

HAMMOND B3 ORGAN CISTERN by GABRIELLE CALVOCORESSI

I am my family. I am my mothers drunken rage. The one she can’t explain. Her voice still ringing in my ears. Loud and clear. I am my fathers disappointment. The one he never wanted and never perceived. And he vanished, just like my shadow does on a cloud filled day. I am my sisters mind. Her childish thoughts and her loud voice, laughing and begging, and screaming and crying. I am my wounds left open to rott and I am my scars, the ones that leave never ending memories. I am my family.

oct 5, 23

— my image.

love of mine, there's no tomorrow,

so please let me borrow,

your scabborous little heart,

oh, i worshipped it right from the start.

yours eyes are where mine follow,

embracing that everlasting sorrow,

you are that piece of art,

which has torn me apart.

i waste my time. i waste my breath.

answering questions you'll never ask.

preparing for when you'll next seek a glance.

you should have told me, you lack courage.

you'll chant love songs in a crowd,

but you never got to chant them with me.

because of those words, those phrases,

your thoughts enrapture my senses.

and when i am not there,

i hope my image lingers in your mind

and the illusion of my touch feathers across your skin.

you chance a glance, but you don't chance a word. who will tell you that time is finite? seasons last for moments, and years only as long as a brief wind lasting merely the blink of an eye. don't you regret it then. when i am no longer there in the corner of your eye, and when you turn to look, only the illusion of my silhouette remains behind.

— vin.

It’s me. I am bitches