The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!
by Christina Sng
Even on these last days,
When the sky has turned
Jaundiced and the air is
Thick with poisoned smog,
I feel nothing but gratitude
For the years I have spent
With you, always full of love
And joy and warm comfort.
Humans love to say that
Animals don’t have feelings
And that justifies it when
They decide to treat us cruelly.
But we all know that is not true.
We feel as deeply as they do.
We love, hate, and forgive,
Sometimes more readily.
And as we sit here, watching
The sun set, waiting for the end,
I realize I no longer care about
The battles I cannot control.
Instead, I choose to cherish
These last moments I have
With you, feeling love
Fill my heart till it overflows.
Thank you, Momma,
For bringing me into this world
And spending this brief life
With me, your little girl,
Teaching me how to live
A life full of love, not hate,
For despite how short it has been,
I do not have one single regret.
Fiction © Copyright Christina Sng
Image courtesy of Christina Sng
More from Christina Sng:
A Collection of Nightmares
Hold your screams and enter a world of seasonal creatures, dreams of bones, and confessions modeled from open eyes and endless insomnia. Christina Sng’s A Collection of Nightmares is a poetic feast of sleeplessness and shadows, an exquisite exhibition of fear and things better left unsaid. Here are ramblings at the end of the world and a path that leads to a thousand paper cuts at the hands of a skin carver. There are crawlspace whispers, and fresh sheets gently washed with sacrifice and poison, and if you’re careful in this ghost month, these poems will call upon the succubus to tend to your flesh wounds and scars.
These nightmares are sweeping fantasies that electrocute the senses as much as they dull the ache of loneliness by showing you what’s hiding under your bed, in the back of your closet, and inside your head. Sng’s poems dissect and flower, her autopsies are delicate blooms dressed with blood and syntax. Her words are charcoal and cotton, safe yet dressed in an executioner’s garb.
You’ve already made your bed.
The nightmares you have now will not be kind.
And you have no one to blame but yourself.