When She Shatters – 5/30/07

When the retch shatters like kernels from her lips, slicing, tearing her vault – ! – she catches her breath and looks at the window, knowing:

It will be over, it will be over.

This matchstick, hourglass perfection; the gamey tears; stinging the tip of her tongue… again! Remember! Pallid eyes and soulless hands. Alabaster brow: Venus, beauty, me.

She locks hands with the shiny bowl.

Again – no! Shivers worm down her spine, wracking her arms. Perhaps there is a way; another story, one that cuts the cord searing every square of her rose-fired flesh. One that stops the blood from strangling past her throat and mingling with the filth – gushing! – down the wet wall.

Please, the fire in the belly, please put it out.

They don't understand. Those porcelain dolls, with their graceful arabesques, sinuous frames, and melodic laughter. Those daughters of Venus, perfect. They will never understand the toxin that threatens her navel with strips of bulbous tissue. Nor ever see the need to expel the poison, the putrid and vile brew macerating in the deepest hell of her bottomless pit.

To expel – This is the reason to live. (For Venus.)

Again!

Shatter the sky!

(Yes – when she shatters, when she retches, Beautiful Venus smiles and adjusts the stars.)