Text

dead flesh
stretched over
her brittle bones
dry and pale
the blood runs through
veins that threaten
to collapse like
bridges

her fingers grasp
a pen as
she writes she writes
always taking the
black outline of the
world tracing its
contours

sitting on a bridge
suspended over
the mossy water
pale striped stockings
the moon rays
on her bowed head

she knows he's
there waiting
in the darkness
little black devils
lighting the way
for him with candles
made of human
fat
when he grasps
her spindly arm
she realizes that this
is going to happen
to her and
that she will not be
able to write it away

the touch of a
rough hand on her
breasts
a hand thrust between
her legs
pulling up her new
black skirt
on sale at the
store she tried
it on in and
tried not to cry
when she saw her
plump hands in the mirror

the mind mirror breaks
and shatters in
her face
the shards cutting
into her eyes
blinding her
the animal panic
begins (no no no
no no )

the touch of him
hard between her
legs breaking
her the scream
that tears open the
night air (leaving it
to bleed) is not hers
it couldn't be
(not me not me)
she thinks of
lilies secret
growing
(white and growing in
the pale air)

she repeats a bit
of a song in her
head
(give me life give
me pain)
he is still there
inside of her
pressing her into
the damp wood
of the bridge
the present and the
past meet and
combine
(please no i'm sorry
for not being good)

he presses
the knife into
her throat
this was a virgin
sacrifice
(it does not count)

the nights comes and
takes her into
her arms and closes her
heavy eyes kisses her
and covers her with
her cloak

when she wakes
she is alone
the horizon is pale
and stretched
the black crust of
blood on her thighs

dead flesh
stretched over
her brittle bones her
smile is not bitter
dying is not an
art
it is the only thing
she can do
taste the salt tears
and huddle next to
the fire and
shut out the world
with a slash of her
pen (or her razor
blade)

when they take her
away she does
not protest

there is nothing for
her here