Is the taste of my bile. I hug the porcelain bowl, body heavy, anchored to the tile. My throat burns and no honey here to hold my head up while my stomach churns. The fever won’t quit It’s lonely and painful. I pass out and I drown in my own vomit.
I’m Right Here
We’re wax bodies clung to each other like scented candles in the night. Dripping hot we’re sticky. And when the heat finally dies, we’ll harden like bodies frozen in time wax turned cold. Will we ever warm up again?
Some say my eyes scare them…
This place is cold…
The little girl cried as her kitten came up to her. with a meow, the small cat bumped her knee nuzzling her, before it ran back across the street, leaving its body behind cradled in her arms. No longer warm.
They laughed, ate, and played games, while she stood in the cold, wearing rags, looking in at the family she once had.