Cold to the Bone

Lungs of disparities

breathe in

unison

gusts.

I am

disproportionate,

Speak my voices of

dissidence

in devilish

tongues.

I am the sick in my

own mouth of

madness, and

Cold to the

bone.

I am the moonfaced

ghoul that

lives

beneath

the firmament

And

above ground,

too—

Hell

won’t even

host me.

Because I’m

disproportionate,

My many demon

voices

speak.

© 2019 Kindra M. Austin, from All the Beginnings of Everything