too young

her fingers splayed against her flesh

felt the beginnings of despair

seep in at the tips

curling their roots around her womb

sending shoots into her veins, to her heart --

cracks skittered across its surface

paper thin concrete overpowered

by insolent spears of green defeat

finally tightening on her breath, declaring

victory with a vicious sigh.

with every twitch of that microscopic life,

her own seeped out, uncontrolled

like death, her dreams glazed her eyes

and evaporated, tears impossible to cry

no release, just brutal pillage

ravaged and emptied

for a twitch.

whores

so that's why a whore can auction off her flesh

and laugh as the sun streams in

a spotlight roving glaring

illuminating the empty sheets where a man once

lay, came, left, forgot

the hollow casing (he thought) he penetrated

in the shadows of night.

she laughs at the joke she's played

a body is just a cardboard pop up prop

without folded stand and frozen smile

a decoy that preoccupied people mistake

for well blended body/soul/spirit

"divide and conquer," she whispers,

slowly coating her skin in plastic apathy

peeling away any soul-full remnants

existing as three, not one

fragments scattered where they cannot be

pieced haphazardly together.