We walk,

with holes in our skulls and knives in our hearts.

There's blood,

is it mine, or yours? We cannot tell anymore.

We've got rope burn around our necks,

open gashes down our chests

We've died in many ways, you know

but somehow we're still living.

They killed us all,

each and every one of us.

Did we deserve it? Perhaps.

No one will ever know.

We walk,

with missing limbs and cut off heads.

Around our feet the blood forms a pool,

a never ending ocean of vivid red

that grabbed our ankles and pulled us in.

We're drowning,

drowning in a sea of blood.

When we rest we can feel it,

feel the gun to the gut,

the pillows pressing down on our faces.

We never speak of it,

it's forbidden, you see.

All we have is the scars on our bodies

and the muttering of our slumber.

And the never ending torrent of blood

falling like rain from the cracked open heavens

and there's nothing we can do

but walk

To say you saved my life would be an understatement.

I was dead. Far beyond rot, smell & decay.

Just bones tossed in a shallow box, torched with hate & rage, then thrown to the ditch amongst dog shit & weeds. There I laid forgotten. Not missing. Not lost. Forgotten.

And then here you come along wanting to love me ...

but,

Blind, I couldn't see your hand

Numb, I couldn't feel your touch

Deaf, I couldn't hear your voice ...

still you stayed & carefully picked me up piece by piece. You meticulously put me back together with each tear of hope, you cleansed me of pain ...

All the while holding tight to strength with every push & shove you endured from me.

Still you stayed, & every glance was air to my lungs & rhythm to a once still heart ...

I began to see you, your eyes, so genuine,

then I began to feel you, your touch, so gentle, and finally I heard you, your voice

so strong, so pure, & this you said ~

"My exquisite corpse

now alive ...

It's just you and me ...

Can I keep you" ...

That spineless girl

The nerveless wavering, fragile girl

The girl who writes

From a heartsick place.

You know her, the one who thinks she's a victim

The girl who's mind doesn't stop

That same girl who doesn't trust

That's her.

The girl, I'll slay!

I'll smother her,

that weak little bitch.

I'll cremate her body,

Reduced to a pile of ash.

A wild wind blows,

From the ashes,

A vixen,

A woman

is spawn.