Poetry

Your Son

inkycapnip

27 Jun 2025

Two years
The evidence of his sins inscribed on my flesh
His eyes look over my shoulder
Forbidding peaceful rest

Two years
Panic fuels an endless race in my heart
The pressure of his secrets collapses my lungs
I had to go to hell to find the button
Press
restart

Two years
Imaginary chains go slack
Refuse to fall off
I drag them with me
Morphing into a beast capable of slaying what he left
within me

My condolences
I can outrun your son
But you will never be free
of the monster he’s become

I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR MENTAL HEALTH

how could you say that to me? I have a really bad memory. He doesn't like to behave. He sifts and sieves through information I do not care about, but when it comes to everything I love, he turns into a steel trap. I still remember. The smell

I was raised by an artist

Black and white pictures hang on the walls Curdling talent Secrets unsung Knuckle stains from her brawl The blood in her mind covers scribbles in oil Rip out my whimsy Poison my lungs Remains willingly toil A gift from the ocean Colorful silks Mechanical oil Magic grows sick Package me

Mom

It's never too late Your hair may be turning gray The moon shines brighter through the beauty of your age Will we really be estranged? Your love saved my life Am I not allowed to repay? I will cherish my wife Don't make me run away

Dad

You were supposed to teach me how to swim Instead you held my head underwater Salt clogged up my lungs Slowed my circulation Hands stay cold Devoid Whirlpools in my chest suck the life out of everything But my heart still fell in love Ripped from the sun Through crashing

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I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR MENTAL HEALTH

I was raised by an artist

Mom

Dad