Cradled in Soil

mother,
i am dying inside

i clench my rolls and the skin pries open,
revealing a pile of straw and tangled feathers.

my head tilts back as i gaze
into a sky of cool grays and
a shiver traces my spine one last time─

it’s too cold and i go blind.

mother,

let me crawl back into your womb
before birds pluck my eyes out and
perch in my scarecrow frame.

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~ by Núr on February 8, 2017.

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