Pour Mercy on Me

M-E-R-C-Y

My rib cage hurts. With the moon, the wolf awakens.
(Pour mercy on me)
Trapped inside since ’21. Her claws—my damnation.

“Your rage is a monster…”
“Your rage cripples the stone cold calm…”
“Until the blood evaporates…”
“YOUR RAGE WILL BE YOUR UNDOING.”

So I invited her for supper. As poison snatched the reins, her eyes flashed.
Pity.
Not betrayal.
Not anguish.
Pity.

It became her jail. Her thunderous home.
My rib cage—hurts.

With the sun, her howls shudder my dreams into nightmares.
It’s time.
(Pour mercy on me)
I beg.
I plead.
The ‘remedy’ in my shaking hands.
I swallow the aftertaste of poison.

She’s quiet. Claws unhand my rib cage.
I wear the fur cloak—disappearing into the herd.

— Fatima Z.

Rage → Anxiety → Pills. Go figure…

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