Know sister sutures, foggy kinship with your burn, is not enough to heal these wounds. Each divorce is like a rape, leaves you scrubbing everything, especially your body parts. Pus will dry and scars will form. For now the darkness owns your soul. Nightshade echoes in the loss.
Sunlight is a luffa sponge.
Every breath you suck is dirt. The house, no matter how small it is, just too tortured grandiose. His mustache hairs line the sink. Their serpents laying eggs at dusk. Your mouth is pursed to bite it back.