Relocated

July 7, 08

Extra adornment, blood on the mirror,
Spilled from babies' vein on left wrist,
Potentially distressful-but not quite,
Smear it away with alcohol and smoke,
And you'll never have a sleepless night.

Your sins are justified if there is no law,
But the end is jagged wood and rocks,
Peeling your skin and harboring your eyelid.
Potentially your abortion meant nothing,
You cannot be burdened with your sins.

Through their thoughts they can't think,
Clouded by the evasive touch and perfume,
Bitter cold biting hard enough into your sinew,
That you realize snow doesn't keep you warm,
And your careless laugh and wiles mean nothing-

To the guilt of the roughly taken and given,
The fetal who cannot mask their cries,
And whose cries where too much for you.
Mistress, you can govern men but not mistakes,
And not a curse which lies dead within you