nothings #5

the ache to move forward, poignant as the urge to look back, wonders if things could have been … different. lines cross and she steps not-so-lightly over them. dressed in rare bizarrity torn on barbed wire she is floating, limbless now, among the bright organza. be-ribboned flesh bleeding breath and humming stars.

sometimes
she sees only red
in mind
on claws
again

karmic-ally

fever burned strange dream
on lead-weight cloth, impression
torn in half – it should be art
but for the dark – and you:

mistress of so many dying names
tangled in beautific smile,
unaware the shaken monolith of
bones behind awaits your own.