Bad, mad, and embruted
furious hair — so dark,
abundant defiant curls; they were
short when we first met
​ ​ ​​​ ​ ​​​ ​how long has it been?

light darkens, salt
fills my eyes, rope
pinions me, but
my spirit springs

​ ​ ​​​ ​ ​​​ ​did you ever really
​ ​ ​​​ ​ ​​​ ​leave the red-room?
nurtured strands of fists rise
Hecate lights them red
this wicked witch’s hair

before, it was cropped
with the master’s scythe

alien pillars watch me
their gaze torturous and
piercing, hunger lusts
blaring against men’s spit
​ ​ ​​​ ​ ​​​ ​his lunatic

gross, impure, depraved,
razzling chaos frees me
from the conqueror, gold
is his idol, melting to
an orange hue.

Shaking hands
Reach for stars
Before my yearning eyes.
They sparkle and hum
Like diamonds,
with brilliant tints.
My trembling fingers
Caress their clever light.

But shaking hands
Are not meant
To handle such
Fragile things;

On my knees
I sweep up shards
In panicked breaths
My fingers sting,
Red stains my hands,
On glass
That will never
Fit back
Together or
Glow with such
Tender light.

For stars
That shine above
My bowed and shameful head
Cannot love
My shaking hands,
And nor can I.