Medicine Vials

Gasoline tipped arrows
Ignite my bones under
A veil of tattooed skin
Stretched thin over frazzled
Nerves chasing cobwebs through
My veins.
Words shattering ear drums
Bounce back and forth between
Ceremonial frequencies that
Dial in confusing noise that
My brain can no longer simulate.
The shattering of serpents’ tongues
Trip at my ankles as my bare feet
Scuttle the broken steps
Of the sacred terrace. Hard green
Moss covers the once marble
Stones like calloused knuckles.

No one –
Wants me calloused .
All they want are fresh wounds
Over healing scars so you never
Know what it means
not to be Torn.

They put me to sleep today and said I
Could breathe on my on. To fill
My lungs with air does not make
Me free. Rather I’m trapped by
The system of oppression that
Gives me a pre-determined conclusion
To my situation. Nausea in my throat
That burns through my bladder
And I’m supposed to be a better
Person for it? … No, I am not!

The cure for this condition cannot be
Found under a child proof cap –
Instead a world proof child.
A child who could walk past
The turbulent waters of the Dead
Sea to feed the sparrows.

S. Liam Spradlin writes poetry and fiction. He has recently begun to write poetry that extends to more than just a hobby. He has been published in many small journals such as The Sequoya Reviews, The Scarlet Leaf Review, Thesongis, IVJ, Tuck, Degenerate Voices, Dissident Voice, and others. His works have also appeared in other anthologies. Read other articles by S. Liam.