Susanna

We sat so close when you said the song that sings the soul like Simon says, words slipping smoothly slithering like a snake up my spine
You tell me doll house, but I doubt you dance darling when daddy demands with his hands like dolls do.
Did you often dream of death? Daunting, daring, dearest daughter, to die? Fiending fantasizing, forcing demise, feasting on false freedom, faking feeble flight if only I could fly without fiction.
I hear hatred is hopeless yet I hold hours and heaps within my head, heartlessly hacking handy in hospice where health hangs heavy and horrid.
Does my acting appealingly amuse? am I an actress? If I stood on a stage or splayed on a screen sincerely, could I create curious creatures of creativity? Or would I weaken wings whitened by winter?
Seamlessly, soiled, swallowing, stolen screams souring devouring these fixations, haunting me like an ailment searing and creeping wordlessly into my seeming being.
S is the letter that sweeps the seams of my spirit, swinging back into my story sullying my sight and scorching shards of a sleeping name.
Susanna.