Bloodshot eyes and under-breath lies

Leaking like the gold from her veins

Filling the pitcher from which we all drink

He smeared her body and self-perception

With an infestation she can’t scrub clean

So patient she waits for the maggots to hatch

Strands of her hair on the bathroom floor

Falling across her face like a flinch

Curled up like a princess on the ceramic

A scream stifled from the gash between her legs

High in the tower above the flower fields

That she can smell but never feel —