by Rose Aiello Morales
Peel back the covers
like the pungent skin
of a red tinged onion;
memory of the fumes
comes back again, searing
my eyes and causing new
tears to wash away the old.
I have walked through glass
many times before, sensation
of fire ice scratching at my feet;
funny how these crystals can so
often be set to raging flame.
Sheet lightening pulled back,
emotion swallowed like unspent
thunder; it rumbles in my belly,
a pustulant lump that sits where
nothing else will ever birth.
I have had my trial by fire, with
nothing to show but my scorched
black heart. It beats on, stretching
burnt scar tissue, reminding me
with every pump how dry and
withered this once bright rose has become.
Years weigh upon me like dark heavy
clouds, threatening to open at any
minute and spill all. But I will not reveal
my secrets so easily; having failed
so miserably at tuning out, I will live
now in the bed I have painstakingly
made, bow to eternity, and turn in.