Once
beholden to ghosts of tradition
indentured monotony gripped like tangled roots
A future tragedy echoing from each appliance
and weeping stained the floor like ink.
I thought to make peace with this woman
Spitting back – hurry, you haven’t much time
Once
The shards of plastic drain you
Your mind will begin decomposing
flee the common, the smell of dark
Shed the scales of masquerade and
Finally reject what was
Once words © malai carrara