gold chains bared between pearly white
snarls , and glasses of red wine spilled
over pristine tablecloths , crimson tears
dripping over the legs of mahogany
dinner tables, and the quiet cry of a
jay outside in the moonlight .
there's a gramophone somewhere
in the near distance blasting an opera
that only adds to the scene as an
overbearing background noise .
assisting in drowning out
a string of profanities and
the smashing of mothers finest
china against the dining walls.
father has taken off his leather
belt , and it now licks across
my wrists , my waist , my face ,
and i'm blind for a second , and all
i can see is a row of dead deer ,
strung up by their broken necks .
blood pooling for their pretty , scared
eyes. life taken too short from them.
a tragic death of beauty.
the jay cries louder.
the walls are bleeding now , i
can see. but i'm not sure if i have
regained my sight , or if this too
is all some vivid hallucination
that i can't quite seem to comprehend.
the smell is real, although. like
copper . and it suffocates me.
crushing my ashopgas like
a viper . tighter , tighter.
and i can taste it , the blood , and
it's thick and too much for me to handle ,
my face grows hot and the screaming
is fading. the red i see in inescapable .
but then i realised that it's not
the blood that is threatening to kill
me , it's father. he has his belt wrapped
taut around my neck , and his eyes are
dark , malicious . and i wonder in a
moment of numbness , if this
is what happened to the pretty deer too.
is this the fate i am destined for ?
the weight of darkness is closing in.
mothers wine glass has broken
beneath her fingers , and for a moment
i wonder where her sudden strength
has come from.
for throughout the years of
blank stares and numb eyes , knife
blades pressed between palms
too hard and orange containers of
prescribed pills at the bottom of the trash
can , i have never seen such life within
her pale bluebell eyes.
why doesn't she stop him ?
i wonder as i'm clinging onto life
and their blurred words as though
they were a tangible thing. why does
mother appear to be yelling at me ?
her pupils wide and dark , face as red
as the blood that i can't seem to stop
seeing. why ?
i wish that i could hear her , to translate
the unintelligible blurs of white noise
into something that could help me.
i'm fading away , and behind my eyelids
i see posters stuck to lamp posts , yellowed
headlines screaming accusations at me of
murder , of the disappearance of boys and girls
who seem vaguely familiar , clawing at the back
of my mind like the rapping of mother's
fingernails against the dining table. there's
blood on my hands , a knife wedged between
my gnarled teeth.
the jay is screaming at me in the moonlight.
i see twisted bodies in gutters , blank eyes
that resemble those of the strung up deer.
and the tightness in my throat keeps getting
worse. there's the tattered nightgown of a girl ,
and i know her , something about the eyes - i think.
something familiar about the way her face curls
into a grimace as i lodge the blade involuntarily
between her rib cage.
mothers throat is raw , and i still can't
hear her , but i understand what she's telling
me, her eyes bloodshot and accusing, her
face feral and rabid . there's understanding
overcoming me , filling my body from head to
toe, icing my spine.
fathers got his eyebrows furrowed , deep
lines wearing away his youth until it's no more.
i cant feel the pain of his screams , only his eyes.
i understand .
the jay silences .
the deaths of the boys and girls with their
painted on smiles and pretty little uniform
cut outfits , those deers strung up
by their cut throats , they were at my hand.
'2019