Sacraments of Suffering
They will decorate her suffering with
a wildflower wreath desiccated in
the spring, the last season she would drift
anywhere to bloom, pollinated within
a blacked-out room until her petals can
not hold the weight of brutal desires
that bruise, contuse, suffocate. Understand
the sacraments for which she once prayed, dire
needs of other lives, suburban seeds
intended to flower into wives. Strays
towards smoke signals, backyard thistles, weeds,
forbidden forests where she at last may
bleed in preparation for that fabled place
where good girls go to be erased.
Horror Sleaze Trash 