dead
daughter
she follows me everywhere
in this life and sometimes even in various forms of death.
the girl with the coffee-stained
dress that once bared the color pink.
her eyes are the fullest
and deepest shade of a forest green.
her trail of footsteps
are incomplete and cracked.
the voice is fragile and
hypnotic in sequence of cathedral bells.
daddy fucked her one to
many times; for her vagina is tore.
mommy's ambition was just
a little different.
it was to wound the mind
of the little lost girl.
"if i never had you christ
would have blessed me"
(remember, god loves us
children!)
as we swallow the word
whole
we choke on plastic pieces.
click
here to see a painting that reminds me of my image of the dead daughter
