morality under line
agnes' hands are shakey as she clutches the vice grips
to bend the tool to make the smile
her voice also trembles
she thinks about the tattooed man as she applies pressure
right down
to
the
wire
uncurling the hook at the top and dividing it into two sections
unravelling the spiral that nobody looks at because it's usually
concealed
by a tag
on a coat
she swung
on a spiral she thought
so many wasted smiles, word, looks and reassurances
and if she keeeps smiling nobody will know
about the bear she bore
sixxxteen
pure and clean
catholic
her thighs stand rigid and feel the cold
of the tile next to the bathtub
her body is akward as the effort she places
in making sure that the noise of the wire issn't too loud
callously brushing against the rings at the top of the shower curtain
like windchimes in hope for a stillborn
her back arches around in attempts to angle
the protrusion
into an anatomy she barely understands herself
her smile breaks as she feeels the pain for the heartbeat
that slowed
inside her belly
this aching mass of unmet flesh
suspended
taken back by the one who birthed
her
him
it
flesh and bones no
flesh and soft cartilage
and the cries are muffled from the amniotic fluid
cry
traveling away and apart from the mangled mass
up through her throat
up through her eyes
up through her mouth
and the ringing sensation in her ears
of being so in control
of life and of
the wire tensing up at the expense of adolescent shakes
and mistakes
and in a frenzied panic
she breaks the concentration it takes to hold still
to prevent anyone except for the bear
from being hurt
wincing
not guilt is felt for loss of flesh
but pain
like the spirals are pinching at her
heart
doesn't reside in the womb
or in the chest
or in the belly
or in the brain
soul slit open
hanger
a rush of air to the brain
plasmatic confusion on the floor
of which blood is hers and which blood she once bore
and as the electric lights dim
a shadowed halo
about the commode
agnes feels the fire of life bleed
like the definition in her vision
from porcelain and glass and red
to the evaporting black and white
of a failing artery
and when the other side comes to her
she will be warm
and chaste
and the bear will be born again
to another catholic virgin
agnes' hands are shakey as she clutches the vice grips
to bend the tool to make the smile
her voice also trembles
she thinks about the tattooed man as she applies pressure
right down
to
the
wire
uncurling the hook at the top and dividing it into two sections
unravelling the spiral that nobody looks at because it's usually
concealed
by a tag
on a coat
she swung
on a spiral she thought
so many wasted smiles, word, looks and reassurances
and if she keeeps smiling nobody will know
about the bear she bore
sixxxteen
pure and clean
catholic
her thighs stand rigid and feel the cold
of the tile next to the bathtub
her body is akward as the effort she places
in making sure that the noise of the wire issn't too loud
callously brushing against the rings at the top of the shower curtain
like windchimes in hope for a stillborn
her back arches around in attempts to angle
the protrusion
into an anatomy she barely understands herself
her smile breaks as she feeels the pain for the heartbeat
that slowed
inside her belly
this aching mass of unmet flesh
suspended
taken back by the one who birthed
her
him
it
flesh and bones no
flesh and soft cartilage
and the cries are muffled from the amniotic fluid
cry
traveling away and apart from the mangled mass
up through her throat
up through her eyes
up through her mouth
and the ringing sensation in her ears
of being so in control
of life and of
the wire tensing up at the expense of adolescent shakes
and mistakes
and in a frenzied panic
she breaks the concentration it takes to hold still
to prevent anyone except for the bear
from being hurt
wincing
not guilt is felt for loss of flesh
but pain
like the spirals are pinching at her
heart
doesn't reside in the womb
or in the chest
or in the belly
or in the brain
soul slit open
hanger
a rush of air to the brain
plasmatic confusion on the floor
of which blood is hers and which blood she once bore
and as the electric lights dim
a shadowed halo
about the commode
agnes feels the fire of life bleed
like the definition in her vision
from porcelain and glass and red
to the evaporting black and white
of a failing artery
and when the other side comes to her
she will be warm
and chaste
and the bear will be born again
to another catholic virgin
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
I was sent here by a clue from miss Judas.
Nice work...I enjoy it muchly.