I thought my mother would skin me alive
When I used the f word
I knew she'd like to tan my hide
When I was tomorrow's fruit she was yesterday's husk
Peel back my layers like an onion
So many selves!
So many selves, no core
Time has flayed my joys
Leeched away my sap
My skin is dried and shrivelled
Like an old nut rolled in the leaves
Of an ancient wood
The hooves of a pale horse
Gallop towards me
Crushing all to dust
In its ghostly coming
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem