Her spirit escapes her carcass
she hollowed her pit, the feeling’s freeing
Existence seems spent, yet her heart remains beating
The fabric of her skin, the contours, blemished, rough
A wasted soul and pictures held too close, she haunts those she once loved
Chronic pleasure, dire truths, oh, what they thought they knew
A gold encrusted locket, tangled veins, a mess of blue
Antique memorabilia, a tainted masquerade
Sidewalk chalk, ransom notes, and violet band-aids
Her jaded pulse subsides; scarlet scabs make love to her upper thigh
As her every last word heaves from her breast, will she dream after she dies?
Silver maggots dispatch her corpse, ambrosia glittering sockets
What ever happened to that pretty girl, who wore a golden locket?