Wishless, she follows the twisting trail
with stern philosophy. Steps fall on caramel
shavings - they distingrate into a million particles
of chocolate dust. Catipilliars taste feetless, but
she can now feels the burn of a million black coals.
Embers between toes, she would never goad them
into actual reality.
Dr. Seuss perscribed Nexium for the purged soul,
so that the happiness swallowed didn't burn her
strangled throat. Two hands wrapped around the gallows, it
already makes a fair present with a ribbon on top.
A bud of blooming blood, she starbursts from the inside, out.
It's raining bathwater on this inferno of
"thoughts and feelings", "finding yourself" --
Raw and undercooked, she walks barefoot only to spice
herself up. Feminine in chipped paint; a bare canvas
isn't even on the virgin's lawn.
