by: Bobby Crowley
You slither in the shadows of my mind
Leaving a thick slime that stains my memories
Your foul stench never leaving my flesh
I can’t even cut it out
And I’ve tried
Tried slicing open my veins and pouring out the blood that you’ve spoiled
But it’s all spoiled
Like a thick rancid milk left out in the sun, my blood turns to lumps near my heart when I think of you…
Of you slithering on top of me
Like the serpent cursed by God to bite at Eve’s heels
instead you bite at my flesh, tearing me into pieces and destroying the ones that make me Eve
my soft, weak flesh yearns to be made of stone
if only I could find Medusa’s eyes past the unwelcome serpents slithering in my bed
but their fangs are filled with poison and their cold, dead eyes make my soft, weak flesh shiver
I don’t touch them.
But they touch me.
Slithering up my legs, down my shirt, into my mouth
Jaw held open by a silent scream
Like a dream I can never wake from
You’ve taken my voice
Lost somewhere like my keys
Perhaps deep within my throat, just beyond your reach
Perhaps deep within my throat, beside my rotting heart.
Bobby Crowley is a Queer woman with a love for all that is fabulous. She is currently working on her Creative Writing degree at Loyola University where she is also on the board of Advocate and a writer for the alt. magazine LUChameleon. She is in love with Andrea Gibson, her labradaniel puppies, and singing loudly in the shower.
