Stepson Senses

Sometimes I shiver and cry cold, silk tears.
Three AM and I feel the weight of night.
Enough anxiety to light a cave.
Pained by the thought of Mom and Dad’s mishap.
Feeling faint, a slaughterhouse, so much beef.
Atwitter, I am abandoned at sea.
Threadbare, I crawl along and drag my foot.
Heaps of hot embers tender to my touch.
Eggshells break inside my chest, cut muscle.
Reeling like a crippled sot, filled with fear.

Speared by a lance in an ebon abyss.
Trapped in a vault on a barren planet.
Eagle talons incising flesh with ease.
Pressed by concrete blocks under an onramp.
More or less the tautness of a snare drum.
Open wounds, streaming bleeding to and fro.
Tossed about like fluff in a manic draft.
Halved like a keystone in a broken arch.
Extracted as pollen for a spring bee.
Reaching out while being bound with leather.

20 Lines
Double Acrostic:
“Stepfather Stepmother”
Writer’s Cramp
2-1-16