Written for Her

She finds beauty in the underneath.
She’s communion to the already dead.
She’s in-between, hope and “pulled the trigger”.
She is the pardon, without giving a shit why you’re guillotined.
She loves you and she hasn’t met you yet.
She’s the mis-crucified means    
to an end you still believe in.
She’s the poison that cures. She’s arsenic.
She’s the angel that thanked you, for ostracizing her.  
In the presence of the "the weak", is where she calls home.
She needs death, destruction and desolation because that’s her safe haven.
She forgives the perpetrator as he was abused too  
but holds him accountable by slitting his throat.
She doesn’t belong in the presence of the mere living.
Berate her, it feeds her.
Castrate her, she needs it.
Isolate her, it’s her air.  
She doesn’t belong in this, collective conscious, world we fashioned.
She protects what is hated
because unlike you and me,
that’s what she was created for.