napowrimo 9

the torch inside your belly
strums my veins, making them pop
like an octopus out of water.
it feels just like winter within this flap of life,
mean cold winds and white vision,
controlled as a chimney,
smoking up like campfires that I sat
around with my girl scout friends.
the memory of no worries strikes
my skin like a talon from my father.
my mouth begins to taste like a broken
apart aspirin pill, not even sour, bad
as all hell. my feet as rugs for your ignorance,
itchy, rough rugs like tiger tongues.
growing a bruise is your specialty,
you even add salt, you're so cruel.
you watch me limp like a blind dog,
hand me a walker. nothing more.
just leave me a pile of dry roses,
and give me the first thirty seconds
of moonlight sonata. that's the least
you could do. you can do the least.