You’re hammering nails in your own
coffin. I told her betwixt two
cups of tea.
She blinked, and laughed and shook her head then said
nothing at all. To go
forward and onward
was the way,
she said, as she shook her clichéd little head.
Beads carefully strung shook through the air like drops
of blood they were; they shined and glistened but brought no
lucidity ‘pon her fair head. The light slipped though
the ceiling cracks and dripped towards the bed
like blood "but you are fine like this" I said
her ears were dead and tears ran down her face
like streams of
blood there was no other way
and there she lay to cry no more for all
distress was changed through blood to
calm repose
she’ll get over herself someday soon I
thought then thought
I’m
hungry.