She spun me along memories' pathways, gifting me visions. In my head, she voiced words I wrote in innocence. Then she set me free, to be victim. Or whatever I chose.
All worlds turn,
making giddy the bones and
the memories that ride this carousel.
Unseen (between sheets
of the days we rape our dreams on)
are Regrets: they crawl in, our hideous offspring, lie between us, force us apart.
Thus fear births a demon.
And demon's victims all are left unsung,
within tumbled, cross-strewn, cemetery walls.
Isn't every birth a homecoming, a longing to be forced apart again?