she smears
******
no. 1
over her scarlet lips
her fingers
catching
on the tears
of her fishnet stockings

kicking off
her high heels-
the ones the butcher
used to wear
when dealing with blood-
replacing them
with the feel
of the Earth
against her sole

hair lowered
innocence
removing the stain
of want
from her eyes
and filling
the windows of her soul
like the unspent tears
the girl with the scarlet lips
would never weep