By Emma Omid

She brushes the paint along her legs
He arms, her stomach, her heads
She covers her eyes with golden black drapes
And begins to scratch her scrapes
Her pencils drift fast
Shading in her nails
Cloaking the white, pointed tips
With darkened, smoothed tails
Her fingers dance one at a time
To the rhythm of a drum
From a beat deep inside
One, two, she closes her eyes
And listens so close
Her heads get lost, forgetting the ties
A skip in her beat and her eyes fluttering
The paint cripples from her suffering
And she puts aside her love and fears
To shed the screaming black tears.