• tainted_halo 10w

    My Scarlett letter ( Patrice Royanne hanson copyright all rights reserved )

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    Let the dead bury the dead

    Blotting shadows cast by coarse hair ,
    gives raise to a woman
    a name unknown to foreign tongues
    whose body is no stranger to straying hands.
    Too familiar to the deafening sound of crumpled dreams,
    like crushed bills pushed into pockets.

    see , she was too blinded by those who wanted to profit off the packaged products of her chest
    turning dreams into vulnerable victims of death
    and She shuddered,
    remembering it all.

    to him she was number 2501.
    her limp body a temple under white sheets,
    legs sustained by gravity ,
    birth waters erupting so often within her mouth,
    cords tugging the strings of her heart ,
    rusty tongs deep enough to uproot trespassers
    and she had muted all screaming long enough
    to whisper Rest In Peace!

    she lays roses on mahogany surfaces;
    far too often to ever be counted.
    bidding the time those to come may return the favor;
    sprinkled wet cement on forked tongues
    and sped up time so she would walk a bridge of redemption
    A sanctuary that saw sacrifices as victories.
    the dead as tragic heroes

    the infant within, still questions her motives
    Crying for mercy , his mother to save him
    Accept his presence as her salvation
    He says she’s forgiven
    , and he’s the one drowning
    she will not hear him
    Has not yet tired of muddy rose waters marring tired features , in the stillness of the night
    for only certain women experience the effects of the scarlett letter,
    the fevered kisses of stone against bare flesh
    Tiger stripes tattooed into book pages illustrated by those who never knew of bruises.

    And did you see that steely glint within the desserts of her eyes
    How it’s fathomless rage addressed the temple of Aphrodite
    And skeltons convinced her ; death is beauty ,
    for a child must learn hardship on his own.
    Society must drink the very waters of her dying soul
    And taste, with salt , the cords buried deep below
    So they may know her strength and stray far from those rocky roads.