they were blonde haired jackals
cackling with throats barred;
teeth yellow and stained.

venomous ichor had blanketed
the outer shell, with hands
that spoke of years
of neglect and pedophilia.

i had sewn lips shut,
those purple hues,
with tints of fuck-me-red
all around the edges.

the eyeliner had smoothed
straight through, wept, with tears
that formed icicles.

they had no breath left.
there was no life hidden
in their cankerous demise.

each had stood on the corners
after graduation, thighs enwrapped
by duct tape and pleather.

(stiletto's never were the same
after the heel broke,
after i shoved it between splintered ribs.
they were hung there, Judas's.)

01/13/2004

Author's Note: for maris kemp. a work in progress. ;) and ugh, the word "their" needs to be damned from vocab. like whoa.

btw: she's so demented, isn't she? nothing's sacred these days.

Posted on 01/13/2004
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