Woe Raven

black-feathers
Credit: Google Search

these memories aren’t mine.

they claw and bite and scratch when i touch them. these colored cacophonous birds of memories that roost in my head.

they will not leave.

their feathers clog my arteries and i choke on their claws as they tear at my throat. i’d scream if i could, but my blood weighs down my tongue and i drown in deluded drug-induced daydreams.

my existence means nothing to them.

not the woman who takes my body as payment for a box of supplies she should give out of the kindness of her heart. nor the woman who uses my strength to carry out her work. to the doctor, i am a patient to be prodded, poked and prescribed a new medication to see if this will be the one to make me better.

the birds they burst out of my chest and i am left suffocating in the absence of my tears.

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