She sat, slouched
Clad only in
Blood stained panties,
that reeked of must
and the eldest rust.
They had not been washed,
She wore them a few days in a row,
Went without them,
a day
so that they could dry out.
They were hardened,
brown and red flecks of dust trickled
off them,
it tickled,
her small sloped nose,
when she twisted them,
so that their form would loosen.
but now she was in them, did not sense a smell any longer.
Her kneehighs kept her legs warm,
except for her thighs,
where her hands did lay,
entangled together.
She was too concerned
with matters of her mind,
to care about her
unconventional hygiene.
