Painting is for pictures
too hard to understand
so let me paint you a picture
of a girl
who has a little too much to understand..
her heart was a two ton brick in her fist
that kept her pinned
to the exact spot on the ground
he wanted her to be in
when she's 5
and those 45 minutes felt like eternity,
clinging to her sanity
like the last molecule of burned up air in a gas chamber
she slept on cindered feathers
sucking on the bones of her rotting body
holding back panicked breaths
like other kids hold stuffed animals
sinister smiling eyes
venom spit
splashed across her limbs
"You're so pretty.."
you're so pretty.
seeds of fear planted
in a sister ,
whose brother ,
didn't know,
she couldn't go any farther
the limbs of her body bare branched
creaking away from his whispered breaths
leaves burned up with the heat of guilt
hidden in the smoke are her pleading eyes
her roots ripped up and flung away
with the drop of his pants
gritting teeth sewn shut
with the bone needles of a broken bird
brittle body vibrating
against the old oak that
looked "so pretty,"
two hours ago
Thee bodies
pressed against the cage
that kept her soul contained
red and blue flashes
translate to blackness
and 11 years later
her sheets are still soaked
trembling with the sound of her own frozen voice
cracking
shattering
melting into puddles she tried to pick up
with dirty hands
and a dirty heart
dripping into the exact consistency
of the mud he left her in
fingernails full of his fingerprints
and the dew on the grass
came from her eyes
and the sheen off her body
clothing buried
and burned
smoking up to follow the bird
that unwillingly flew away
blacked painting hung up
on the pale bone frame
those 16 years and no one taught him a shred of decency
you'd think it should be inked into his humanity
but no.
she sings into the ashes
calling it back
lungs raw
throat black
she can't see his face
she can't know his name
she can't say that
she carved herself up like an animal
creating a scarred picture
everyone's seen before
but few have known
can't say that she breathes a storm
then pounds her body
until her tears turn red
and everything goes numb again
and she can finally believe for a second
your hands aren't his hands
If I knew her what could I say?
that there's something beautiful about skinned knees
and the fault lines in her eyes
and the way she scrubs her blood from the floor
and the fact that I can't stay quiet anymore
the flames my guilt fans
grow brighter when I think
that because I didn't speak
he could have gone on to ruin
another perfect thing
a perfect thing who's picture
looks a whole lot like mine
