Bitter Salt in a Laboring Heart
she walks down a steep darknessher hand held
supposed lover supposed
dope seller
of the drug she needs
the love she seeds and swells with
water and time
and the passage of rhyme
we all barely make it
but she is convinced she can shake it
a worthy enemy
for her hours spent lonely
something to focus on solely
something to unmake
as she pulls and takes
bitter salt in a laboring heart
eyelids crusted
Iron knives rusted
a question of devotion
tied to years of emotion
aged apron about her sagging middle
the time in the past
and the love is so little
to keep dragging her through the crucible
that is her mortal soul
digging deeper
into the hole
no tears to cry
no more
a misery buried but longed for
her child presses hands
against her eyes
and the pain dies
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