Pale Beauty

my bones ache
beneath frail skin
as the hunger gnaws at my stomach-
my body is stretched
and worn thin:
nothing but faithless prayers
pass my lips
and I know that I am sick

yet, you watch me there-
not with your eyes but your hands
as I writhe,
you mould and contort an idea of me,
your fingers jabbing at my skin
and I feel the rot setting in,
my body breaks beneath your will
and the bone sets wrong.

An unabating pain
ebbs through my veins,
I cradle the wound
where you tore
and pried your way in,
my body is no longer mine;
it is the low hanging fruit-
look and touch as you please-
you drink up my juice
and eat me to my core,
your hands are my noose
but it is I who should have known-

known not to smile at you
in the way I did-
small and polite,
seductive, an invite.

I have felt the weight of their eyes
since I was a child,
before I grew breasts
or woke to blood in my bed
and I am tired

my body aches
and my frail skin
is worn
and stretched thin

I lie stifled
beneath the rotten soil
of unconsecrated ground;
death touched, pale beauty

yet, still, you pervert me
into your fantasy-
even when I am reduced to bone
you lick your lips
and think of the taste of broth on your tongue.