hair falls over her shoulders, begs to be

swept behind her porcelain ear. the rose blooms

dotting the ridge of her cheeks beckon you

with all the allure of youth dripping heady from her brow.

see not the tenuous wire wrapping femininely

around each wrist and ankle, another

finds its home cutting into her white neck.

her cool fingertips graze your skin. her eyes shine

in the pool of the streetlight, filling with tears

like last night’s broken glass reborn with the sunrise.

a little tug, head bowed, smaller, smaller, she is always

feeling the wires you still haven’t noticed as though

that makes them stop existing, stop pulling, stop

performing. do you think she’s pretty? do you

want to fuck her? good, that’s good, take it in, 

lose yourself in the illusion of choice

until she becomes me before i ever got to decide. 

win, lose, find yourself among the scattered pages

turned over a thousand times looking for answers

that were never theirs to find.