Her friend, the air, or enemy
has finally betrayed her
and her Valentinian lungs
that did exhale sonnets
and breathe in unripened formalities
collapse like your favorite picture frame
under the weight
of heavy quicksand.
Vinegar has painted her back
it stings so much more
than other salty words
and the dripping of the vile liquid
from her highest and most dangerous scar
to her sore and bleeding toes
she considers a sign of weakness.
It is not a sign of weakness.
And the continuous floor
with all it's vines and appendages
has wrapped cruelly around
her raw and tender ankles
and with its Goliath claws
rooted her to destiny
locked her up with tragedy
she stands glorious, a stone man.
It's understandably upsetting
forever she will be
covered eyes and shattered halo
skin of dust and foggy breath
she guards the final home
of those with thinner words.
She is my favorite statue in the graveyard.
