Pin her upon bulletin boards
like some poster of a prize to possess the crowd
putters past the perfect picture,
eyes across her breast
eyes averted from her breath:
for the smell reminds them she is not dead
she is something more she is their darkest moment she is aliv—
forget forget forget
They tied her with string, dulling pain
with sweet words, promises
of wealth
decay.
Maybe with time comes the slow death
of love, the dissolving
of once-revered offerings upon the shrine
of the meaning of "human"
on SALE. Gaze! Gaze upon
her line-marks of your so-called
respect slashing into her,
bands of red sash upon her pillars you, YOUR
hands suffocate,
deface that sweet taste of her crumbling of hash marks counting the days until the object falls to waste, discarded to die.
Years and years, again and again.
New posters, new pictures, new crowds.
forget forget forget
