Mary in the morning, and Mary at night
-Dedicated to all of the girls who scream out for something more-
Mary screamed
and all was silent again.
Morning turned around
it was night again
bending
and breaking
against this stupid congress of lack and love.
Love?
Love is simplicity
love is seeing
Mary
for who she is-
skin
and bones
now
and not the happy smile shaking your wealthy bosses hand.
The filter
of hot coffee
was poured down the sink again
and dinner was just a half a' hour away.
Mary screamed
and clenched her black fingernails against her black dress
as though
her anger
would give the day back to us all.
My hand on the doorknob
aghast
and bending my head in a sigh
because here we go again.
All over
again.
She went away
where none of us could follow her
deep into the place
where she is ugly
and unseen
even though
she's right in front of us.
She became a stranger
in those stolen hours
backwards world
from day to night.
She slashed her wrists
wanting it all out of her
everything
every last bone
and thought
freed from her skin.
She wanted liquid limbs
so she could fold
and frame herself around the situations that she wanted to run away from.
She wanted to be clear beauty
rather then this tainted soul screaming at time tonight.
Mary screamed
and with each drop of blood
lost to her was a memory
of us all tonight.
No one would enter her world
no one could
so none of us new
the lengths that she was going to free herself.
Mary
was enchanted by the Fresh language
and had always wanted to see Paris before she died.
Mary
was enchanted by romance novels
and the men that would sweep her away from herself and into their pages.
Mary
never hurt anyone
before she hurt herself
so badly
that the light
turned back to the dark.
It was morning
but in the flash of an instant
it was night again.
Mary
against herself
and her enemies.
She fought a battle
where she herself was the enemy.
We all moved our pieces across the board
all
with our own agendas
but she
stopped long ago.
I see no point
in the refusal to see what's right in front of you
or the whisper of shame
said in vain
rather then love
that people could have given to her.
Mary
stopped eating
and
Mary
stopped speaking
and then finally
Mary
stopped breathing.