i hear her shuffling cards, she,
with her glass houses.
she's been thrice more faithful
than this wandering knave, and
i'm left trampled beneath her golden hoof.

i'm deliberating whether or not
i should scrawl my insides
onto pages with blood ink,
whether we should be
walking down this stairstarscape,
or instead, let it all rot into pumpkins
and first halloweens.

i haven't seen those pictures
in three years, but her memory
fades like a lightning streak.
she's been raping my brow
since the beginning, and i've
been tangled into weakness.

i don't know if i can succumb to this,
don't know if anything
i do or say will ever be enough.

i'll always be the slaughtered calf,
rolling with dice and punches.

but she's had me paying
for her sadistic lap dances
across my chest, and
into these cavities i once called
empathy.

08/13/2004

Author's Note: tagging with alaina and ms. parker.

Posted on 08/14/2004
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe