New Orleans Silence

I might have been something:

a physicist, a shaman, a healer, 

a streetwalker.

Instead, I am broken,

created in your image.

A broken doll made by a twisted man,

criticism beating in your empty chest.

Your bile corkscrewed into my marrow,

from the moment I began my desperate crawl

away from you.

I could never get far enough.

Your craftsmanship was faulty.

I am left a nothing, a heap of broken parts,

never working, never feeling,

abandoned by my maker.

                                                                                        - Loveday Funck