The room. Opaque. Stiff blood bleats the bandage soft. The world. Not there. Or forgetting. Bashful murder sserved on cracked plates. The full of the dark dense in her stare. While she contemplated stealing the last of the dog's leg. Just the over she told herself as the joint finally split. The bones in her grasp as thin as flesh.
Drums. Lazy footsteps on the mauve of midnight. Broken lipsticks color the kiss of darkness. Grey again. Surgeons. Every moment. Cutting closer to the ribs. Until there are only tits.
The solvent. Thighs like lye burn the spills into dead skin.
The fraction. Her fingers like battery terminals. The room still not lit.
It's just as well. I rather not see.
No isn't there when she wake up, but she rememeers.
Empty-handed postmen. All the letters they yet to deliver.
Dwcisions in clay. Stiffening the hands that must make them.