Coffee in hand, she sits on a train
She smells a little like cinnamon and sage.
She hears a voice, her heart in her mouth
It isn’t him, as she fears. Absolutely no doubt.
Amongst the loud hum, she can spy at herself
So sad, so defeated, she’s like no one else.
Tears spring to her eyes as she looks at her screen
She’d been too busy living a Hemingway dream.
She won’t call him again, as he doesn’t care
She won’t let him in when he’s not really there.
She won’t be his last and she wasn’t the first
She isn’t the only girl to get hurt.
So coffee in hand, she’s no longer forlorn
For hell hath no fury like a good woman scorned.

Her legs weren't stairways
to heaven, for these ladders
       were anything but safe.

Pulled fibres collected
                          unsuspecting  
Victims to be caught upon
                    her wondering lusts.

For the best poison was that
   which took time to ****.
   And her bite was anything
   but fast acting upon her prey.

She never charged as much as
      those who were below her class.
              For she was scorned before.

And those who chose her beauty over
         instinct, only had themselves
                                                to blame.

For her man, was a walker of corners,
                      catching eyes of cheap thrills.
       His gift to her was a ring and a death sentence
                                                                        of A.I.D.S..

And now she passes the gift given without consent,
        to those who would choose a vine vintage soured
by gangrene grapes.  They'll all taste her sweetness,
     only to poisoned by its taste after swallowing  it.

I bloomed like a flower for you.
An annual.

We used to wake with the rising sun,
Before the sky could heat up enough
To burn us with her flames.
We would stay up long after the sun died
Every night, long into the stars' play
But we were always busy looking at each other.
The moon was and has to be jealous
Of us,
We took the time we gave to her
To give to each.

Then there were the other dolls
That swung out the door.
You used to be captivated by the sea
And stars,
But I broke your trance
And with your eyes on the ground
You drifted like the smoke from cigarettes.

You were clean before,
Never had a drink,
Never smoked, never catcalled,
For the moon had you,
You were stuck in dreams
But I broke your chains
And had you freed.

Now you use me as a match
To light up your darkness,
To fulfil your hunger,
Your midnight smoking ache
On the terrace,
The filthy parking lots.
You don't care that you are burning me
And I like a fool
Crave your fingers on me
As you strike me against the sand.
Again and again
Then discard me.

I never feared being burnt,
The whole world used to hit me
On me
Like stones rubbed together
To spark fire.
I would light up and ignite
Wildfires,
But I never thought
You would bite.

I forgot that all birds in cages
Beg for the sky,
But once freed,
They all come down to litter the streets.
I freed you,
You carried me on your wings,
Made me forget the moon,
The stars.
The fact that I was a planet on my own,
And I tied myself to you
Like I was a lost moon
Surviving on gravity's pull.

You dropped me in a sky-less desert,
The horizon dancing in its own flames.
The sun and the moon collided
And the stars fell like moths
Burnt by desire.
You never did return.

But I was wrong
The world remained intact,
The clouds cried.
It was I
Blinded by the shine of your eyes.
You used to reflect the moon,
The fire of the stars years away.
I am ashes, black char,
On your wings I will be a stain.
So you shook me off
And never returned.

I only wish now
That when I lay well into the noon,
The sky will heat up enough
To evaporate me,
And I will dissolve.

You will feel me in your breath,
In the wind beneath your fake wings,
I will flow into your blood stream,
Block out your lungs,
And you will bleed through your nose,
Cough up black debris of the past.
I hope you will remember me
As the dolls you will collect
With their paper fingers
Falters to revive you.

But I will be deep in your mind,
Corroding your nerves,
Blocking veins and arteries.
And when you ask yourself
What is happening,
You will see my heart that you stole
To save yourself,
Will burst in your own cursed cage
And in your own blood
You will drown.
But God forbid I become caught in your dreams.
I always was a nightmare for men
So I will be no different for you.

Somewhere you did burn me,
I simply took it as a glow.
But you hate ashes
And I have regrets.

But this is the time
When your absence of mind
Lets the match burn your fingers,
And your clothes catch on fire.
But you, unlike the horizon,
Don't dance but wither in pain.

I will seep out through you then
And water the plants.
I will be a garden built
On your ashes.

im lying here in bed wondering when we will meet again, and angry that i trusted you with words no one else has read.

you took my firsts- my words and touches, and i assumed you would be my last, but you took them and never looked back.

i guess that's why i haven't written on paper since.

You don't have to talk
about breaking my heart
like you were just pulling weeds
from the front yard garden,
like it had to be done
before you went about your day
without a **** to give
about what I had to do
to salvage the flowers
that you thought
weren't worth watering.

Sands slip through my fingers,
sun scorched with dried blood
staining the palm where I wiped the blade.

I did not bleed. I did not bat my eyes
when his severed limb flew past my face.
My eyes opened wider and tasted victory
more intently than my screams
vanquished his memory.

I thought it was but an apparition on the sands
miles past; a haunting, a demon, a scorned lover
back for revenge now that I made off with valuables:
the fastest steed, the cave within me
where he stored his treasure when he pleased.

Thus when he appeared, when he charged by foot
and outstretched his arms (much smaller from my new height)
feebly, weakly to end me first, so he could brag to the village,
"She is like the women who believe they can fly."

I do fly
to my sword,
my hand unsheathes the blazing boiling metal.
With one sharp ting I watch his arm and the tiny dagger
sail across the desert and settle atop the sand,
gently gracefully, unlike his living, boasting words
would have wanted.

To the man who brought destruction in the depths,
where coolness and faithful waters dripped down the walls;
where no one dared near for fear of the One who is near me.

They will say warrior was born of ruins.
If they ask me, I will say, "Warrior is born of defeat no more."

You sit at my table
And eat of my flesh

Do my entrails warm you
Of the cold outside?

Viscera visions of death
Erodes my mind
While you lay bare my bones

Does it amuse you
To watch me suffer so?

For even a buzzard
Shows pity

My heart pumps no more
From whence blood once flowed

A river
As dry as sand

She expelled them all, floating like lifeless
Baubles hanging in airless light.

They glimmered in frozen shimmers,
Silence blessed her being.

A woman scorned, cleansed of ants crawling
Upon her being, now healing once more.