Horus

He walks in silence over broken bones,
bits of pain that feed his soul
of lust for power, tender shocks
that kill a subtle girl;

her age is young, her lace is frayed
and trampled on the floor he played.
No one will know
how to undismay her anxious fright.

Let’s sit alone, lovely boy-
rings of questions in your hair,
tangled down the dreaded locks
that weave you into dry despair.

I have a wet, uncontrolled river,
running down my satin face,
underground through secret tunnels
to dark oceans under space.

I am a doll you played with there-
the latex curls of my hair,
the heart of air, the sanded face
gave you a dark and secret place.

And now, my dresses, torn in shreds,
strap me in an empty room.
Waiting for my doom, I read
your empty face.

Locks of lonely pain and hate
frame his Horus face.
He walks around a cryptic chart,
dark circles in his heart, he prays
to himself.