Low Cut Red Shirt, Black Jeans

She is just budding,
pure white,
but darkness slowly creeps
in and around.

She dresses up,
dumbs down,
and swallows a bitter shot
of living hate,
just to blur the hard edges of the world.

And as they scatter to their own devices,
she is alone,
bare,
utterly vulnerable.

He stalks,
preys,
offers green glass and liquid heat
and reels her in.

The sharp points have returned –
something inside her tightens
and brings the bile to her throat.

So she only nods and smiles,
kisses and touches,
at all the right moments.

He floats away,
momentarily,
then comes crashing back,
all cocky grin and fumbling fingers –
long gone is the sweet caress.

It is power and anger,
frantic limbs against her unwilling body,
the deep blue waves twisting and tangling,
imprisoning and strangling,
pulling her under.

It is over in the clink of a belt buckle,
the metallic resonance of a zipper,
and the refuse is tossed aside,
empty and hollow
and utterly without purpose