Echoe Paul, 7/11

Chasms

sinking into guilt
bare, muddy, face down
soft skin tearing on jagged pieces

hardening.
our tenderness becomes callused, dried
kind words transform into insults

there is no forgetting

it follows, suffocates
creeps inside these precious moments
turns them stale

when love speaks inside a lie
chasms swallow the sound

new windows

while dispensing the wine
you taught me the only way to drink
was filtered through paper funnels, thin and brittle
like the wings of a dead butterfly

as you preached
my little nose
smelled the vinegar on your breath

taunting me,
you poured sacred liquid on the floor
believing bread and wine would mop up your dirt

pushed to kneel, force fed
dry bread adhered to the back of my throat
red soaked my knees
sticky, tugging

in your circular, cerebral prison
love had hierarchies
my hands, delicate
placed beneath your thumb

within your shadow
I mimicked movement
to avoid burning

I began
painstakingly removing
barbs in my brain
outside the range of your rage

guilt and fear have melted
cleansed by light that shines uncensored
through new windows
with different views

at times, I mourn for you
cherishing rainbows
you will not see.

Promote. Poetry.
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