the wolf winks. devout with blood.
and other dying things.
the rabbit growls. repentant with hate.
and pious with killing.
the stones in her throat weigh her down.
eager to change things that can not be.
the noise is a comfort. the stutter of poisons that must manipulate beautiful ovens. thick with the stench of burning witches. and the chafe of skin as it pulls away from the bone and the muscle. because the skeleton has begun to listen.
she is corrupted by silence.
Tuesday
9/06/2011 12:42:00 AM
| Life Poems |