She’s dressed all up in black, sleeves
creep up exposing what is meant
to be hidden: cross-hatched lines,
angry welts writhing up
slender alabaster arms.
Screaming riffs of punk rock bands
the only place where she can hide:
the cadence of defiant despair.
Life is a world of gray cracked concrete.
Vibrant colors of country seem
a million miles away. Eyes
with light reflecting off the blade,
her only other place of refuge
and release: light subsumed.
Vision falls into gothic abyss
and finally, fatally fades to black.
To support the poet’s benign coffee addiction: Coffee.