Breathing is the only thing hinting
that I am actually alive.
It comes out in huffs, freezing before my eyes.
Running my tongue along the length of my chapped lips,
I feel my ripped skin snag and sting for moisture.
My hair is in tangles like a garden of snakes,
but he will be here soon.
He’ll take me out of my confinements
that keep me somewhat safe.
He’ll brush out the tangles,
wash me with his own large hands,
cover the bruises on my body with makeup,
paint the chapped lips away,
and leave me undressed for others to see on that stage-
His fingers are like fish hooks,
showing the crowd my teeth like a show dog.
Prices leave parted lips from the crowd.
I did not care for the pricing; I knew what it meant,
Another visitor to push my face against the bed.