The same things that dragged her under,
tempted her back up again.
Though tortured
by their skilled caresses,
her face split from ear to ear.
Prettiness cracked in two;
wide smile lips,
red blood make-up,
concealing jagged teeth,
made brutal for the love that lingered.
She said his fists loved her;
that his heart was not in his chest,
but burned in a glass vial,
fit only for emotional desecration.
So she would not abandon
dark alley stains
that ripped designer pantyhose.
Threadbare sanity worn thin
by rubbing up too close
against the grating skin
of lizard lovers;
once,
twice,
three times too often.
Baby black top
and the same jeans;
bring the simple, morning routine.
Some are just junk,
but some make the day
go further.
Never been a diamond ring girl,
but a life of the party,
down for whatever.
Never thought about seeing her 30’s,
never mind 40’s
and that red blood lip
smashed holocaust smile,
murdered more
than 12 gauge blowjobs
and never left a mess;
just a slow, twisting rot.
The long, funeral foreboding
That makes bad jokes funny.
Tick-tock,
Biological clocks come
more than a lover these days
and there’s a haze in her eyes
that wasn’t there before.
Like she’s locked away,
far off distant shore.
No longer gutter rabbit warren,
dumpster clothes
and petty, two-faced bitch fights;
she is long gone.
Those broken smiles
never shine anymore
and that smoky eye
is a permanent bruise.
More often than not now,
I see her looking long
and far off into the Valley,
for there is no life left in her.
Her ghost is gone,
having abandoned her
long ago
with the rest of them.
HG – 2017
