Empty Graves

The bird in her hand was regurgitating. Convulsing with the rhythm of starvation. Trying to feed. The atrophied bones of junkies. Men without skin. Searching for holes to crawl inside.

She heard him say hello. Then she was deaf. Smothering in the world within. The words were limping. Thundering stumps pursuing their missing feet. Greyhounds chasing mechanical rabbits they'll never catch.

Crawling. As if there is a path. The vein spreads its legs. Lets her inside. The fable convinces her to keep looking. For the end.

The whore building her brick house. Is hard to knock down. The wolf breathing heavily Fails its threat. She is not afraid. Of the world that would prove she is still asleep. Has always been. Even after the kisss of that prince. The fairy tale betrays her expectations. The flood arrives just in time to take it all away.

All that she tries to remember forgetting her. Haggling as she does with the darkness for one more chance to purchase what cannot be bought.

Picking at the future. Chewing on the scabs. Until there is blood.

The flesh is an insatiable machine. The heart is an empty grave.