Her Beelzebub

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Her mother sensed the evil

When she found black stains on white sheets.

Torn fabric and charred wicker

Sent infant cries from the cradle.

A string of coos hushed the child,

But unchecked went streaks of red in brown irises.

~

A depraved soul not yet sixteen

Sat atop frozen roof tiles,

As her mother lamented friends

Sent to push her over the edge.

Burning lungs reflected a life turned left,

And a shooting star sprinkled ash on coarse skin.

~

She turned twenty-four in a black alley

With blood on her hands.

Jagged metal pierced skin

Before disappearing into cold flesh.

Her mother’s sobs rang in her memory

When the steaming vent released a cackle.

~

Her death fell behind metal bars,

Fluorescent lights turning pale skin gray.

Red roses turned black

On a shattered gravestone.

Tears dripped from her mother’s cheeks,

For she knew the path below the grave,

~

And Beelzebub welcomed his child to hell

As she clawed her skin raw.

– kh.

© February 2017 | Placer County, California

Miss America

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Darling, you were a beauty.

Child of Venus, daughter of desire;

Men fought and slaughtered for your hand.

Darling, you were a hero.

Defiant infant, weather-worn warrior;

Influence lifted you above the clouds.

Worshiped, adored, pursued–a billion dreams you fulfilled.

Darling, what did you do?

One hundred times two,

Broken vows, homeless nights,

Whiskey bottles, legal battles,

Cigarettes and white powder in bathrooms.

Blood on your hands, filth on your soul,

Count to forty-four, your time is up.

Darling, if only you could save yourself.

Beautiful woman turned broken glass,

Marilyn Monroe reincarnate,

Descending from grace, burning as you fall.

– k.h.

© February 2017 | Placer County, California