Slut

Written by Alison Howard

 Photograph by   Viliman Viliman

Photograph by Viliman Viliman

Fear no evil, is what she had heard
Though evil itself dare not speak the word
That makes her retch and sick with tears
As he cannot or will not see what he fears
That thing being her in all her self
With the hateful truth hidden under this wealth
Of spiteful bitter tastes in tongue and cheek
That have taught her affection is for the weak
And chastity nor exploration can stop the flow
Of the inevitable truth that lingers below
Waiting to lurch at the next sight
Of peaceful times when all seems right
For she cannot sleep alone, for shame
Revenge to all those who forget her name
Hell to health and caution to destroy
Blissful numb is hers to employ
To sap inward the demons about
No chance to change, no graceful way out
For grace in dishonesty is all she possesses
Under lies of tight squeezes and short caresses
Because the love she finds does not last
As the role she portrays is forever cast
In the mold of sand, rotting and shifted
Forsake nor her presence, 'tis her form that has drifted
Away to the next conquest of the times
Yet all she can do is find solace in rhymes.