I hold the Underworld in my heart—dead feelings, dead friendships, dead memories,
and scars that never quite disappear. Hades sits atop the throne in the hollow of my clavicle,
Persephone rules over the flowers of decay growing in the caverns of my beating heart, and
Cerberus resides in my diaphragm, held back with thick, black chains,
muzzles clamping down its jaws, growling, snarling, struggling. It will break free, fighting
tooth and claw.
I shed this mangy skin and bones. Home is no place for a war.
I grow a new hide but the cycle repeats over and over. I cut myself
loose, free-falling off the edge, chest caving, heaving and breaking,
breathing and dragging,
heavy with plight . . .
I crawl out of the grave I dug for all the dead I cling to.
Pain burns twice as much when it doesn’t break you. It’s all fun and games
until someone gets hurt, but I’d rather that someone be me.
Thank you for reading,
(Side image taken from here)