Discolored

And she stood there, watching,
as the faeries raped my colors.

She looked like she ate
strained turnips at every meal –
severe, spare and squally.

Her prim lips
squeezed into a face high
on economy, emerald eyes
with no reason to sparkle.

She held my vocal cords
twined around her little finger,
my brown eyes squished under
her bunny slippers.

Fleet-footed with shimmering
wings, the faeries danced across
the silhouette of a sunset
from the Iron Age.

Multihued creatures tumbled out
of her ancestral hat, a fat rabbit
out of its witch’s pointy end.

She swallowed my silence
like castor oil.

My heart doing the salsa
against my chest – it might
even have been
seductive.

My spirit in every butterfly
that ever flew in the sunshine

My mind splattered
in a thousand letters across
a page in a poet’s mind.

My body at a pinnacle
where pain married orgasms
in technicolor.

The daisies later rescued my
shades and laid them at my tomb
when it was found.

My tomb – the body
my soul resides in today.

I met her the other day.
Apparently,

All she can conjure now
is a night only she can see.

The night she killed Me.
The night, the faeries
were raping me.
The night I lost Faith.