misery that neither loves nor wants, let alone needs company

catefrances

heavy laden she bows her head
her body almost doubled at her knees
she wipes away a stray strand
with the back of her sinister hand

she buries the curse of her life
beneath blooms alive on gnarled
boughs and dead leaves composting
her peasant hands hold her heart
bloody as the day she was born
slowly dripping to nourish the bare
earth as barren as she feels within
though it be just dormant whilst
she is truly dead inside.
and she hides within each

she shivers as the winter sun dips
below the ridge. she continues with
the task at hand. she will not stop
until it is all gone. until she knows
no one will discover what it is she
has and what it is she must be rid of.
no one suspects. they never do.
they are fools and so is she.

the photographs she burns. the
flesh. the bones. the promises.
the discarded memories. all wither.
she leaves a note and prays to
a god she does not believe in.
though her whispers are not
for herself. He will know this.
He will understand. she must
cleanse it all. be free of it all.

later, she will scrub her white skin pink under steaming water until her it glows with a sheen that will reflect every little doubt in hopes of repenting all her non sins. and then only when she is satisfied she will lie down naked upon her bower and wait for the dark to come reclaim its child.

catefrances

heavy laden she bows her head
her body almost doubled at her knees
she wipes away a stray strand
with the back of her sinister hand

she buries the curse of her life
beneath blooms alive on gnarled
boughs and dead leaves composting
her peasant hands hold her heart
bloody as the day she was born
slowly dripping to nourish the bare
earth as barren as she feels within
though it be just dormant whilst
she is truly dead inside.
and she hides within each

she shivers as the winter sun dips
below the ridge. she continues with
the task at hand. she will not stop
until it is all gone. until she knows
no one will discover what it is she
has and what it is she must be rid of.
no one suspects. they never do.
they are fools and so is she.

the photographs she burns. the
flesh. the bones. the promises.
the discarded memories. all wither.
she leaves a note and prays to
a god she does not believe in.
though her whispers are not
for herself. He will know this.
He will understand. she must
cleanse it all. be free of it all.

later, she will scrub her white skin pink under steaming water until it glows with a sheen that will reflect every little doubt in hopes of repenting all her non sins. and then only when she is satisfied will she lie naked upon her bower and wait for the dark to come reclaim its child.