silently she spits
matted hair, tear stained face and drooping tits
she throws fits
soundlessly seething
barely controlled breathing
the seventh born child in her lap crying from teething
trapped
hopeless, helpless...she's sense-less
she did this
with every unprotected dick she rode she wrote her own sentence
the seeds bear witness to the smoke curling from her nostrils
dissipating in the ether like the money meant for food and pampers
stark reality hampers her escape
the first time was rape
after that it was old hat
turning tricks, she stopped counting the dicks after 45
she's more dead than alive
zombified waiting for an alternate existence
the child cries with more insistence but she doesn't seem to hear it
she sits and silently spits
completely unaware of her matted hair, tear stained face and drooping tits
1 comment:
Fucking excellent poem. Very unsubtle and doesn't seem to chase an ending...more oft a particular vice or emotional begging to be put to sleep. This a personal piece? Of someone or of some nature?
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