Tag Archives: this is not love

barnacle

sealed shut by you

decades ago,

my eyes stubbornly refuse to open

as sunlight pierces my realm.

release me,

i whisper.

one hundred years i’ve been

here,

surrounded by a stench more massive

than the entrails of a decaying blue whale.

parched lips drop blood

onto a slimy green floor.

release me,

i beg.

atrophied and blind,

i stretch broken hands outward

toward the warmth,

yearning to be loved

as a newborn is by her mother.

your laughter echoes to and fro,

bouncing off the walls of my

hidden prison.

release me,

i plead.

you giggle,

lapping at my sanity

as a kitten laps at milk in a warm kitchen.

the ocean crashes onto a sandy shore,

stealing grains of my mind

with each retraction,

replacing them with your own.

forcing me to accept a new reality as you

crush me down further and further,

denying me heaven.

so i sit.

cling to the slimy walls of my odoriferous cell

as a barnacle clings to a ship afloat upon an unforgiving sea.

lost, forever, yet drifting

doggedly toward hope.