I went up on the roof tonight
to watch the storm clouds roll in,
looming in the eastern sky.
A sliver of moon and a faintly glowing mars
were all I could see in the twilight
and the west was a faint blush like
the wine I always make dad buy for me
at christmas and thanksgiving.
The mosquitos were thick
and I could cut through them like a knife
if it weren't for the fact that they gang
raped my shoulders, leaving me as pathetic
as a hollywood hopeful who only has a long
line of "Law and Order, SVU" guest appearances
on the back of her glossies.
"Grotesquely murdered woman
Number 2" or "Serial rape victim." CSI has
more impressive titles.
Angry bumps are forming on my
fingers, reminding me how lifeless they have become
scratching away at my skin instead of paper.
I bleed ink.