Blood Beads

After the sun went down
Sitting on the bed
Hands cupped and arms
Extended as if to catch
The light man made
Without pity or remorse
The traces of pain highlighted
In long scars upon me
Needle sharp and razor thin
Memories of pain
Felt to cover other pain
Until pain became relief
Punishment for not being
Small enough
Dainty enough
The bloody traces now white threads
On arms of wench that would hold a prince
But never could not being hot enough for more than simple lust
Lust understood as nothing more than a hole for relief

The way sharp things felt
Dragged deeply upon skin
To pay for not being quite good enough

Arms now freckled with age
And memory that is almost forgotten
Most of the time

But moments when the long sleeves fall open
The light reveals past symphagonies of pain
Once torn and bloodied
Brought supreme peace
Knowing that being nothing meant nothing

If he said
Stupid cow or if he chose another over me

Out came sharp metal
Sliced flesh
Bloody beading
Flayed for enmities of love

Now pallid white threads
Writing that forever tells

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