Once I cried
the conscious death,
reborn in the orb of humiliation,
mopping the slime off floors,
nausea permeating
the base of my spine.
Once I was trapped
in a wavering faith,
shifting like in a restless sleep
from nightmare to being awake.
My skin was caked in lime, scorched by
the unharvested dream.
The sky cracked quick as though
scissors sliced right through,
and the spell of suicidal defeat reshaped
into an era that was past and never to be relived.
The house door opened,
the sore removed,
the picture frame expanded
to encompass more
than I ever knew.
And now with rent unpaid
and time a driving axe,
the grass looks gold
as my dignity blazes
through the flood
like a beloved ship unchained.
More at http://www.allisongrayhurst.com.