Poetry in motion
she sits alone
in a blank-walled enclosure
listening to the sounds
of running water as the
Gods enter her bloodstream
the tension she always
feels, searching out others -
their eyes not allowed to fall upon
her disgrace -
but now, safe;
locked away
white walls
calmer
(the walls covered in painted-over
graffiti; the toilet
seat down,
a stink of shit and
piss still escaping;
a needle hanging
out of her arm)
it washes over her
like nothing you can
describe in mere words;
so good it hurts
it hurts good
and for a moment
(just one moment)
she sees her life
in perfect relief,
distanced by euphoria
(how did she get here? nothing
but a girl
in the cubicle of a public
toilet shooting
shit into her veins and
wondering about
what she naively calls
her life?)
but then it's gone
and she is just
another princess
dancing amidst her
multudinous treasures
no regrets can take this away
from her
