Death

Don't deny yourself death,
the last and only remaining solitude,
left to us as a gift from the gods.

Windows and doors locked, blinds drawn,
taking refuge in the bathroom,
sitting on the edge of the bath hiding from death,
poised..

Fashionably early or late,
this Angel with the crimson lips and long skinny fingers
that twinkle as she waves to you through the crowd.

Born feared, raised to be perfect.

On your knees, fenced in, castrated

the price of perfection.

Draining life from the eyes and lips and hearts of humanity,
their blood spilling over the curb,
down into the drain and lost forever.