Camera shutter shade, I am three-fourths drowned,
image in glass slivers of quicksilver mirror, black.
One quarter livid, barely alive, my wine runs dry.
Toe broken, I cannot walk, so I fly past pins and
needles meant to sew filth into my side stitches,
I am a doll, I am a saint, an angel, just a whore!
You are a nightmare dressed in white feathers,
cobra eyes and hiss click of a fanged lisp, I cry
out in the tongues of the Elder Gods, but only
the lonely graves hear my name, as down into
the marrow of the coffin I go, a lily my heart,
a rose my sex, my eyes nightingales, to soar,
to stifle, the Judge is architect of nightmares,
the Lawyer would leave me for a prettier girl,
for the clients he takes are trapdoor spiders,
hiding in glass Snow White cages, poison apple
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