There is a being inside of me trying to claw her way out,
A dark muse, the harpy that feeds on my nightmares,
And poisons my waking dreams.
She wants to break out
Into my perfectly constructed life,
Porcelain and painted,
Embroidered with silk thread.
She wants to rip it all out
And return to the black and the red.
The Wednesday-born daughter
Of my anguish and fear,
The strength and the art
Still-born and captured in my own tortured self.
She’s biting and tearing at my stuttering heart
Hoping to break this bone-cage apart.
I’ve tried to sate her, she lies complacent within my vices,
But in moments of weakness, she is the one who is decisive.
I despise and contain her but exult in her power.
The being who brings my hatred to flower.
Copyright © Ashley Poort