Tua Culpa

Doll glass eyes

This ancient crime scene

bears the bland drape of its neglect, 

its affects—having been trundled about

for years, as if without forethought—no

longer leaving cleaner contours

of themselves etched in the plaster.

The bright blood slashed from your whetted heart

has now become a splattered, dull visage, encrusted

beyond analysis. You still wear the makeshift

tourniquet that shored your darkening flow,

and stay on here, curating vintage figurines

with gaping, glass eyes.

5 thoughts on “Tua Culpa

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