spineless.sometimes i put my handto my back and trace my spinejust to make sure its still there.i will never grow up,never be beautiful enough,never pull that haze ofgreen smoke into or awayfrom my chest.that is your home,and i regret to say thati have lost your evictionnotice.im terribly sorry for theway you still make me bleedsilent screams bitingtheir way over my tongue;im terribly sorry,but how the fuck can istop loving you when i cantforget you long enough to lookin the mirror and see you in theglass.you tell me in no (un)certain wordsthat i am not anything to you,and i just nod and smile,just clutch my insides and crywhen you cant see mebecause what the fuck elseis there to do.i am not a bashful souli am not afraid to grab youby the wrists and not letgo until you love me backbut if i had any less backboneid be dead.
MotherI remember the scent of blood. Everywhere around me, drifting in the air, clinging to my skin, heavy on my tongue. I breathe it deeply and smile, because it reminds me of her - of my mother.I was very small when she found me, wandering through the wreckage of the village where I had been born. I was filthy, covered in debris from blasted houses and dozens of little wounds. I couldn't feel any of it. I was numb, inside and out, until I turned a corner and someone caught me by the arm. I looked up and saw a woman. She was dressed in close-fitting dark clothing, and her hair was long and as pale as her skin. I knew right away she was different. She didn't look anything like the women of the village, but it was her eyes that made her truly different - cold and bright, fixing me to the spot so I couldn't move or even look away.She was a mercenary, hired by another country to attack ours. Once she caught me, she could have killed me and left my body in the street with all the others. But f