If my heart has hardened, there is no one else to blame. I have never been a woman unaccustomed to the shame and bitter rebuke of who loved me, every bitter word a hound that tore flesh from my bone and did not pause to heed the sound of other hunters heeling, watch and wait; … More blood & oak
Sing a song of misery, let the heart collapse. There is nothing left to mourn save what is crude and crass. Aching arms and blistered feet, bloody hands and raw, red meat; repeat the lies you once believed and give in to the bitter grief. … © 2017 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.
Mourn not the weeping wounds and tears. Let blood congeal, slow ripples. Blistered water boil, raindrop pus. All scars were water once. Cry no pain, gasp no ache. This body will healing drown in praise. … © 2017 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.
*this poem in featured in “the nothing”, the previous post, but it was written before and published here before. I changed a few punctuation marks; here’s the definitive version.* ~acb … Swallow blood to staunch the grief. What bruises bulge beneath, soft flesh split, which veins spill sadness: it does not matter. Only someone must … More swallow blood
The earth split open where I fell; loam and soil cannot tell of blood and bone that burst there between new snail’s shells and the moss that staunched the gravel in me. … © 2017 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.
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