Fille Fatale

Cristina de Guzman

As twilight creeps into thy eyes,

smokes rejoice the nearest death

and trap each hope to vindicate

the wrath that swells upon thy wounds.





Naked ruins are thrown away

into the realm that breathes no air,

where filthy earth smells like blood

and rain that falls tastes like rum.





Thy fragile bones shall crack and crash

and so the flesh soon shall rot.

Thy blood shall spill and seek the earth

where myths and mem’ries shall forever thrive.





Virgin vow in thy salvaged womb

shall seek its birth in pray’rs at dawn

to bribe the sun and eternal fog

to kiss the day with sweet revenge.





The wrath that escapes thy graying skin

still walks on the sordid ground

and waits upon the celestial rain

to wither and wash thy innocence.





Down the forlorn sunless lab’rinth,

where songs and scribbles paved the way

to guide thy unrequited tears

to drown the poet that killed her thrice.