Family Sting

A pin punctures the sole

My god, thank you it’s not me today

as I stand on the cold floor

forgetting I’m already dead.

 

My memory sharpens

and my toes curl

as the needle sinks in too far

to forget what you said all those days ago.

Cold bitterness scrapes my cheeks

and I huddle

I’m a muddle HA HA HA

Now it’s the same Krapp scenario as the tape bleeds.

 

A girl stares

Again I’m punctured

Oh the banality of hopeful forgetfulness.

Punctured again

My soul

Punctured, ruptured, again.

My forgetfulness reminds me of you

Punctured again, my soul remains

Punctured, my soul remains

Punctured

Again.

On the cold floor I stand

Punctured.