Sick heart, dripping with gasoline,

fueled by the cigarettes thrown like darts

the whip’s bullseye that tore her apart,

innocent and caged, helpless to cleanse itself,

gives in to the rage,

desperate heart, ashamed, and open to the pain

ring of fire, caffeinated with hope

the fear of divorcing the microscope

the false sense of affection

and attention, sin or virtue

abused heart that copes with the common flu

too hooked on being special

naïve heart inept at being spatial

the bigger picture, loss of self, to her is simply meaningless

already silked by spiders emanating opalescence

but any sort of touch is more than what she ever had

orphan, when did child abuse become the newest fad?