When I was young, I used to hide behind my mother’s skirt
But mom never wore a skirt
Her last words about life were
‘Honey stop!’ But no one was there…
Just me, covered in a thick layer of dirty blood
I stopped when the screams died,
But they kept on devouring me
With thirst. Like maggots.
Whispers to my ear ‘what a childish joke!’
I put the knife down and forgive the tarot reader for making me feel insecure.
By Dragos Gruia
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