Unconquered feelings and unresolved emotions
Running through warm sheets.
When she looks at her hands she’s disgusted.
They begin to wrinkle, and hold untimely shapes
That carved her scarlet letter and nailed it in her heart.
A rhythm she has never used to define her creativity.
A beat, a breath, a bar, her blood
Spits from her mouth like an open wound.
Festers like a sore that never heals
That always bleeds, that always stains.
She can’t win; she can never win.
What is life…
that she should live it to
Taste death; (a life unknown where her fortune
Is)
Yet
Undetermined.
And she will bide her black soul there
Tainted with men whose mischievous smiles
Take advantage of the tantamount of her lusts.
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