Souls are bartered for and hearts shoplifted,
a tiny green chunk of malachite
took its place, a tinge of hope
in the polish that reflects white streaks
like memories, like tiny piercing darts
Of light, what brought it on that frigid night?
The weight you carried became too much
I was the song you’d never hear again
the one you’d heard too much,
the reliable breakdown
which soon led to ours,
you need novel melodies and new bars,
to scratch the itch you can't find.
And now your face pivots,
I see the scars of women,
Makeup covering the blush
Of their cheeks, their scent a vicious trap
That slays the weak beneath their feet
They take their father’s knife
silently in their back. It makes
them sorry for holding the clock’s hand still.