Her
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.