Art by Annie Owens
I thought, that an old drained shed, would never
Break me down, but here before me,
Protruding out from the unkempt valley,
A collection of wood and nails, held loosely together,
Where I, used to bury my head, to hide from the monster,
Part of me, still hides, too afraid to face it as it slumbers,
Drifting past me, as I stare at my reflection in the murk,
Locking sight with me, as she transpires onto the shed
To be face to face with who I’ve lost,
Drowned in the crumbling quake of devastation,
It all starts to flood me, a crushing stampede of memories,
I watch myself being hollowed out, a pumpkin on Halloween
Excavated of all it’s guts, gobbled up by the monster,
His meaty paw, swung to and fro, striking the porcelain
That he kept, in it’s place, on that high, cold shelf,
His breath drifted, and filled the dry shed,
That stench, was still there, trapped in the dead grass
And trees surrounding the forgotten place,
Forgotten, until I returned to find her waiting,
Crying for this moment, to be picked up and carried
To the distance, where she can be reunited, with herself,
Me, in my incompleteness, which I’ve grown accostmed,
Never would have happened, if the monster still took breath,
Yet, I still smell him,
Feel him, on the back of my neck,
He’s engrained, into every twig clinging on to it’s branch,
That day, that I left all this to rot in my mind
Has held up, to haunt me and entrap what I left hanging,
I left my weakness to fend for itself, which crawled
Into the deep darkness, to age into it’s own monster,
For I can never escape the punishment
Of never being able, to rescue myself.
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