The Whore

Just little something I wrote

Cocaine popsicle and gnarled flesh
montage of flickering lights
A mangled body dancing 
Immersed in a pool of shattered ember, 
pillowed by rust tinged grass

Sounds
trickling in
vanishing
The waves move in
out
the sea is empty

Brandishing his wooden cane
the pimp,
The wizard
said
She is broken,
thrust as hard as you want

The tree bleeds now
spilling onto the cracked concrete,
Spreading
oozing
progressing much further then expected,

and it all dims
The corpse breathes,
no one sees.

The grim reaper stays immobile
enamored with something.
Something else

Numbers fall
Matted hair
Sticky with scarlet molasses,
decay swallows what was.

Vile hues of midnight blue
the bruises that embellish
the giggles that abruptly cease
the bile that rises
an unheard scream that becomes like all the rest

Mutilation
temptation
a bird sings
and the whore lies dead