Death Becomes Her

She asked for me to come.

With every tear that fell and with every

line she drew into her arms, she asked

me to come.

Every time her fingers danced with her

throat and every time she counted her

ribs before eating,

She asked me to come.

Every time they laughed and pointed

and every time he took her

She asked for me to come.

So who was I to refuse?

 

She asked for Him to save her.

Every night she asked for Him.

Soon the colour of her knees matched

the ashes of her fallen dreams.

Soon both her arms were traced with the

tears she could no longer shed.

Soon her throat was sore from bringing

up breakfast, lunch and dinner.

So, she stopped asking.

 

She called on me again.

Her wrist was still freezing from the

coldness of the blade.

But alas our union was not meant to be.

They stitched her up like the doll she was

and put her on the shelf for everyone to see.

But it was love, and no doctor or pills

could keep us apart.

 

I called for her.

Every night I would whisper tales of

freedom into her ear.

I would watch as her sea-filled eyes

would light up at the thought.

I called on her and she responded.

 

Never had a necklace fit her as well as

that knot did.

Never had my ears rung so beautifully

with a mother’s screams.

Never had she slept so peacefully

until that day.

She asked for me and I blessed her with peace.