inspired by a visit to chicago

broken and holden with curly locks so golden. unfurled on a pillow that she ransacked from my bed. a golden colored bruise drowns the life left in her face, and she swims in her own eyes as they turn to a stone cold gaze. she lifts a finger and strokes the tomb as she leaves for tomorrow through her numbered days. she flies through the life that she never really had, as nerve damage causes her no pain. she drifts to the foundry where the dead man melts the ore, and realizes nothing is golden anymore. the pools of blood bubble up past the corduroy beaches she keeps. the rank smell of poppies being consumed runs rampant at her feet. she lifts her head and her golden locks unfurl, as she lays her broken body on my pillow robbed bed. she looks into eyes I hold so closely and starves the clock inside my head. she looks for answers in a questionable place and illegally delves to dream. I smile as she lifts her fingers to the nightstand, but at the sight of her gun there is no time to scream. broken and holden, she tells me it's time to go. she's working in the foundry digging up love so hollow. the gallows that she dug from nourished by the dead. the love that she came from was merely nourishment for my head.