the burn.

Small hopes trickle off her lashes
She has disappeared
And for all the times she bled
For all the times she’s felt
She only burns
She’s punctual
Prissy, the kind of prissy
That tests your cunt
And she’s witty
Fast
The kind of fast
That makes you uncomfortable
And you are uncomfortable
So uneasy about the skin
You wear
That you laugh at her
And you judge her
Until you stop
Its
When you feel
The Burn.