55

she sits her sorrows on icy blue lashes
and smiles away the tears
and when the moon turns red
she hides herself away in graves
and she has slit a smile through her lips
so they know she is at peace
shes written all her stories down beneath her skin
in careful bloody letters
and she says she hopes
she rots into rocks who stare into the moon
and into the winds that whisper into souls
so that red may grow from under her bones
through his veins
and down his throat