She is pulled to the sea
By the hunger of her bones
And the moon-
Here she will stay
She dreams of opening her veins
Murmurs flutter from her pale lips
And she raises her porcelain wrists
Dreaming of cutting away the brittle flesh there,
of her hauntings falling into the sea,
lost in the folds of the waves
Now she dreams of the night that would come
Of the dark fur and shadows that would slide over her eyes
And she would not shut them
She would remain still; dripping,
The white sand soiled with red
She would hear lucid whispers from the moon
The ocean would curl in and out of her
And she would be empty
The sea would take her then
Frail, floating, empty
The sea would take her