she told me she didn't know what to do

with a mind shaped like a gun

cold hard

& leather and lace fantasies

about her brother's wife

no one left to torment within her mind

so she turns back

to feed on herself

"you have to swallow the bones, too"



i alone dare to listen to her

whispered ravings, stinking with self hate

and mourning wakes her

to forgotten (dead) desires

but no one wants to play

manic games of depressing virtue

and, regarding life:

"i don't care !"



now, she is back to nothing once again

drawn into her own pity

(a candle without a flame)

she turns to me, and says to herself

"the light always shines brightest

before the storm."