Thursday, August 27, 2015

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


1 comment:

  1. I am sure, you are on the right way. But it seams heart with the words. For me even the image shows all!
    Herzlich Pippa