So many silver linings,
but for what?
Without, I am witheld,
and secreted from myself
with locks I have lost the numbers for.

Do you miss me…?
I mean really,
and not because I care.
I just like the idea of my absence
being tangible,
and you loving an empty space.

There are many conversations
we could have had,
but my lips were sewn shut
and oozing bloody pearls.
You thought it was my aesthetic.

Now I run on all fours,
patter downstairs on talons
with my wings tucked against my sides.

Horned and scaled,
I await the arrows of an older time,
and my head mounted on the wall.

© Deanna Scutt, 2017

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