ta-tat ta-tat ta-tat
blood rushes, red, she blushes
frightened by the hushed tones
of desires unadmitted to the mind
blind
to what is wholeness
she breaks herself in pieces
so she can share
her focused and strange beauty
twisted into the knots of her spine
Cracked vertebrae drip with wine
Crimson with dread
She eats the bread leavened with dead yeast
her tears yet remain in the deep, hidden pools of her
irises bloom late when left in vacuous beds
so it is her fate to find strength
from soles atop pain buried six feet underneath
every wanton drop of saliva and hot breath
and her breast heaves from the suffocating weight
Of her false, wheezing hatred for weakness
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