POEMS • [more] •

Ghosts

The moss green on her lips
the flowers in her unruly hair
a thorn struck through her moonlit heart
her eyes lidded without a care

she falls and goes to float
in the muddy purple waters
pushed down by a pipe for air
by her beautifully beaten daughters

the vines wrapped around her puffed eyes
her hair tangled over her features
the moss green swallowed and accepted
as she becomes one of the other creatures