I Walked With Him

June 4, 2015

Pale of a legend-

A blush shade of violent sheer- 

Limbs less than almost bended-

Grown into a pretty apology for the ugly of messy fire-

And when skins are burned with careless-

Loaned with words of wreck

Wronged in reasons that take none of your worry-

Pretty will lend herself to petulance-

And Pretty will Fire-

Pretty will burn-

Pretty won’t give a fuck-

Pretty will walk with “HIM” and shed all that was-

Pale of a fever-

Red lipped and loved in lost corners-

Torn meat of thigh and the 4 a.m. of crosstown-

What words could describe the bloat of bodies –

in the lot next to the fried fish shop-

Or the babies that-

Smelled of boosted soap-

Pretty doesn’t care what clean smells like anymore.

Pale of a new start-

Heart shakes and emergency voices –

the lights on the ceiling seemed so important-

Pretty wore well the sweat of death,

The cold of salty lemonade-


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I Walked With Him I Walked With Him I Walked With Him