Soul Proof Box

Her nails were sharp as scissors

her hair was in knots

there were many of them

sharing each a disease

sleeping together in sheets

shined up in sun-faced glory



Riddled all the way through

and she tore at their faces

loving the way they bled

hair twisted into knots

the room was a bowl for moons

pale transcendent loons



Could it make her whole?

her nails are scratching out his name

where they were engraved

they never forgot his honor saved

he made sure it was hers to blame
when he came home a different same



But hers was the scratching

away at those faces

she had an evil idea

somehow she could be

a mad Magdalene in space ships

when the world could never be hers

and she was scratched out.