fists
with five year old fists
i hid
in the dark
at the back of my room
shivering with quivering lips
too afraid to scream
i knew they would come
as they did each sunday night
these demons
swaddled in rags and wet with whiskey
i smell their cigarettes and turn to mud
as they anoint themselves in babies blood
closing my eyes
closing my eyes never improved my station
for all of my senses were on fire
for me, terror never took a vacation
"no such things as real monsters"
you're such a fucking liar !
when i wake
sometimes my hands ache
from fingertips to wrist
because i am still clenching
my five year old fists
****
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.