Eyes as blank as the first semester canvas
Waiting for context to give ‘em colour
She’s wasting away in a half price deck chair
In the cage where dust fuses with dust
Spit collects in her mouth
Tears collect in her eyes
Momentum can’t cease this soon she thinks
She’s gotta have a few years yet till Ragnarök
She chisels hieroglyphics into her skin
So she can stay as a historical landmark
To remind the world she’s to be preserved
To inspire a committee before she’s lost her youth
Slinking through the pavement, under the fire of stares
But what does it even mean?
When like gargoyles in the heart of Paris
The embody the idea of being alive
The fast claws away at her life force
Down her throat and between her legs
Can anyone look at that collection of marble
Like a Tate modern tenant, just lost in the wild
Statistically that’s ridiculous, clearly they will
But when conversion is a thing of the past
The frost reaching the womb, dictates perception
Comparison can only thrive in this crater
How can she make the seals clap again
With the hypnotism hitting their eyes
In a way only the one possessed by Eros could
Fill the pigments with a hot pink grip
Before turning blood red from the tears of heartbreak
Emulating winces and frowns
In the sceptical that only youth allows
Only a year has gone by
And the visage remained beautiful
So what happened?
Why do the seas remain calm?
These eyes that used to grip their gaze
Dead
These legs that would be traced with their tongues
Dead
The tights that would interrupt their thoughts
Dead
The origin point of the nutrients that would invigorate
Dead
The whole world has died around her
And she’s lost all life as a result
The earth has forgotten her as time thrives
A glacier victim to decay, at just 24
No eyes will objectify her ever again
What a fate for one, which solitude only brings danger
Lnc0
Domestic Poetry 