Her Brittle Hands

Another layer of lavender scented lotion Rubbed in vehement laughter A quelling of sadness Covered up in mascara insanity Livid strokes of feathered paintbrushes Hoping to see the big picture She cried like oil paintings without a purpose. A treasure hunter searching for rubbery remedies Without heart’s sanctified atrium To light the way She bled from carnivorous pores Bites against feeding palms Struggling licks upon pacifier wounds Mouth Shut Stone’s lonely lyric Thrown against fragile lighthouses Beaming through unacceptable horizons Investigation of deity’s hidden agenda, She questions validation’s esophagus Its vocal chords Torn Another squeeze from lavender bottle Empty Its exhales shedding infantile whisper … A bounced reality check Declaring that it wasn’t a disease That afflicted her bones ©Drake J. Eszes