Hangman Syndrome

savage is the queen whose crown has been soiled. her flowing gown thirsty with the things she hides under it. little scavengers. on the tips of her nails. as she bites down. the militant agenda of heroes. futile at best.

quiet is the princess. as she slips into the parade. a wilting orchid lost amongst an array of ostentatious roses. the mirror she suspects. is more than logic enough. to determine. what to keep.

rotting pumpkins on the porch waiting to be kicked. monsters wearing human masks. the fortunate disguises of lovers.

the storm at her fingertips hisses and moans. furious with all the rest of her body. an empty cauldron. waiting on its witch. all the ingredients gathered. but the magic still missing.

she ties the doll's arms in knots. the tighter the better. because so many things forget to stay with us. she assumes certain maps must be regenerative. since where we must go will always find us.