She's blissfully distracted,
heavy headed daydreams
lulling her into their bosoms
where nightmares slumber disconsolately
behind gauze curtains falling sideways
in razorblade ribbons.

Dirty thoughts lurk behind her eyes,
seeking out dark minded corners
in which to thrive;
her crevices teem with words
her mother taught her not to say
when she was too young not to understand,
slipping in between her thoughtlessness
to bring a blush upon ashen bones.

Embarrassed into nakedness,
she sleeps among fallen dreams
where everything is tattered,
worn and torn and broken just alike,
just like she never expected to be;
clothing woven of discarded promises
falls apart beneath the sunlight
bringing out intrinsic flaws—
bare skin waking up again
without a care.

It's not hell she's found,
it might even be ther heaven
no one ever talks about,
the one where angels can't sing
on key, and the past is looming
around the edges, waiting for her
to slip up and fall down
where it can reach;
if this is heaven, she wishes
she were still alive.

Death is just a misunderstanding,
she's decided,
between her and God,
but she'll get out of it somehow;
all she has to do is wake up.

Because nothing is permanent.
Or maybe that's the problem.