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  • Sharmain Oo

Woman on Top

Pretty lady, give us a smile, her actions for his fancy.

She bares her teeth, whore!

Not your demure darlin’ no more.

She wears fishnets and they call her a slut,

feigned oblivion to her aces high and dazzling mind.

To be so obscene was a nightmare,

a beautiful angel with the devil’s tongue,

drunk on cheap whiskey and rum.

She wakes up feeling the absence of wings.

Stumbling out, the dirty blonde

wore smudged mascara as a weapon and tears in her eyes she donned.

Her knees are bruised blue-black, knuckles red like cherry chapstick.

Still, she never lets the soft bones of her body rest, never gives them their hollow victories.

Still, she staggers home – disheveled and

dripping blood from the stumps on her back and all –

haunted humming as she drags her severed wings behind her.

Even as the stained relic trails as crimson,

no way you’ll see her crawl.

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