Her breast of broaden chest uncovered slight by a sheet pulled across in the night tangled by twitching feet a mixture of movements unsure toes singing songs of unsettlement.
And her brow furrowed as her teeth set and clench What does her throat yearn to garble? instead of yarble as her wrists slither along like Cleopatra's snakes that whisper trails of burnt red and blotched white.
Bedded portrayals of lovely betrayals.
Because the guilt is clawing up transpiring from the floor like a mutant through a wall weaving through taught bed springs as a mouse after cheese bursting from the indented mattress like a monster in a horror movie to grasp her and pull her until her screams ring out sharp and scissor through paper dreams before the weight crushes her.
Decapitated as the Red Queen did to cards, It was only a game and always, as silly games do, someone had to lose.