Monday, December 7, 2009

Prom Queen

With your withered violets,
drowning in the marsh,
amongst the trash of lavender

and bones of peach.

Cramming mud into
cock kissed cherub lips,
now your dress wrinkles in the tub,
opium stitched wrists come undone.

Rose thorn snags between your legs,
beneath the bridge you drift,
in this, castrated white dress
torn from the breast.

Playful as a kitten
you dangle the kitchen knife,

soft shades shatter the blade.
Red hair the flame of youth.

Ophelia, erotomania,
watch the moon hit your windowsill,
that uncracked ovary,snow of sin,

that bounces off decaying skin.

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