Heart filled with innocence
– purity, wonder –
you prayed on shooting stars
for loved ones to live forever.
Then those hands found you,
grasping you too tightly.
Against furniture your back roughly connected,
wimpers slipping passed your lips,
stopping short against a calloused hand,
your eyes drawn to the single finger pressed against vicious lips.
Lying there, you didn’t weep when it was over,
afraid that you’d be heard.
Raking fingers against the throbbing of your throat –
a hand print weltering, consecrating the taint of your loveliness.
When between nimble fingers,
you found that straight edge –
that was too sharp at the touch, manufactured as Aurora’s spindle –
and knew not how it got there;
but against the heat of your skin,
you did press it;
uncertain, but desperate for something more.
A quick rake alongside a sharp hitch of breath at the foreign sting,
that eventually you got used to.
To the giant bottle for which the label held your name,
filled will small white pills that
promised to restore the innocence you searched for –
for many months accompanied still,
by the rake across your skin –
until the moment,
with memories of vicious lips and blood,
you grabbed that chair and dragged it
into your garage where you found a rope discarded,
and knotted it between two beams
used for the automatic door.
And dangling there, tears escaped you as it was over,
and you cared not if you were heard.
Marked Asphyxiation Blue
and weltering against your stretching skin,
the salt water droplets which
consecrated the taint
of your loveliness.
ⓒ Marie Meyers, 2014