Nola_hall

I heard a whisper in the wind.

It bled into the paper-

bleaching out rubies for diamonds.

Whispers of the man who followed

A lead marked with a chloric scent

that would never leave even after years.

Bubbles rising higher,

Multiply through the sky,

Focusing on each one till they merge into

One big facade.

You say it was a 

It rings slow and steady,

Matching to my rocking.

A folded shelter forbidding the entry of you.

Blinking once-

Twice,

Blisters rub my skin,

Shed my bones,

And tear my fingernails to shreds.

Crippled into misery, 

I find myself dripping…

Farther–

I creeped through the doorway;

Looking over Mom’s shoulder to find my

Daily dose of everyone's obituary.

Each vine of life is

Frail and cradled by the lava of metal

Red is the color I lack.

It's rumored to bleed--but I never saw it this month

or the last.... few (+2 years) times

I've been sick for too long,

lacking something that will give "a women her purpose".