My flesh is worn,

This bed is cold.

I have forgotten why I subsided,

But I will always remember your nails digging into me.

The comfort of your pain reminds me,

I’ve been wasted.

Just a motion,

Nothing more than a word.

Rehearsed a thousand times,

For an audience of hungry lions.

Let them eat what is left of me,

For I’ve been wasted.

etta 2009