Her tears fell
heavy,
weighted down
by the sodden
sobs of
frustration.

Her throne
was cold
and often
smelled of
*****.

Her problem
was
never getting
enough of it
or always
running
out of it.

She warned all
who attempted
to get close to
her that
her soul was
not to be
shared.

This morning
she awoke
alone already
feeling the
gripping
anxiety slowly
tearing from
her insides.

A third of
her life
spent chasing,
a third of
her chance
spent numb.

After all
she recklessly,
threw away,
after all the
plans aborted.

Everything
worth anyhting had
long ago found its
way into
the hands
of those who had
what she needed
in that moment.

The only
thing of worth
she had left was  
what drew the lonely
men into her lonely'
room.

The barter cost
someone their flesh.

She had what she
needed but still
struggled
to find
the line beneath
her skin.