The Wordless Stone

The moon dragged
her blood bag,
full of life,
she drops her cloak
and in her blanket
I was born

A tearless beauty,
for I cried myself to ruins
in my last cycle
no one
could tear me down,
for I had no
limbs, no domicile
I used to conversate with God,
but the sky was filled
with my empty words,
In my last life,
i was seven when i died,
they
stuck me together with glue; with uneven parts
not seeing
that I was a sponge
so I
wringed out those memories
of my childhood terrors
not through my eyes,
but I made constant errors
I slept in my steep puddle,
mouth stitched because
of the fear of what I will say
would be true,
mudsocks shaping my lost feet
how could
I ever walk again?
This puddle never ends.
Down here, God is nothing but clear water
Down here, my skies were always falling
To tape them back together- they would unloose
and collapse on top of me
and the
joke would crush me.

The adultress
that brought me here,
gathered men like pearls
I must step
out of this skin,
made of her
old whore petticoats
Love is a curse,
it lies in a
bottomless pit- along with her black promises,
along with her
oneness,
and like I always say:
I know what lies are for.

I can no longer unfold;
a block of untitleness I am,
Wind wishes to move me,
Fire had already made me,
the Earth's grasses tickles
my hard exterior,
Water has been lost to me,
but Spirit is tamed
in my unmalleable shell,
where my words can only be saved


No one can tear me apart
but no stone like me has a heart.

The blood bag
has spilled,
I'm writing like mad

Moon drops her cloak,
and now I see who I am,
undead,
cradled in
white dust.