she is the mist
she is
lost in
by herself
she is frightened
of her self
she feels fear
in the very flesh of her
the bones of her
she sees herself
as if she is
the 3rd person singular
she has lost
the 'I' of herself
has become an 'it'
'It' talks
to herself
about her self
the flesh of her
she wants to strip herself
down to the bone
her skull
eager to be free
of its flesh
she longs to be
bone white bone
pared down to
voices
voices other than hers
invade her senses
sleep like rain
washing the world away
she wants so much not to exist
hospital in the rain
stuffed with suffering pain
a little death every now and then
rain becomes snow
snow falls
covers the world in quietness
snow falls on those dead
for centuries...centuries
marble angels look hopelessly to a Heaven
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Evokative and painful, yet lyrical lulling sedately into a pared down core of emotion and an indignant introspective dispossession at its core of resigned isolation.