Happy birthday to the body in my closet

HAM
and if i have to blow out
another candle
or hear another song
make another wish
and it doesn’t come true
i will take the matters into
my hands
the hands that used to reach out
for her mother
crying and needing comfort
the fingers that used to draw and paint
now hold alcohol
the palms that used to hold a camera
to capture every moment she could
the wrists that used to wear bracelets
made out in the sun
now covering in red permanent ones
those hands will now touch the flame
not to feel the warmth of the soft flickering light
those days are gone
to see how close
someone
can ever get
without putting it out
those hands will now hold the pain
that demands to be felt
every birthday and christmas
every time that damn phone rings
those hands are now bloody and pale
finally
—still