The Mercy of the Insides of Her Wrists

by: stacy

the mercy of the insides of her wrists.
soft flesh so easy to rip,
so generous in its spilling of her blood,
and so pale as if to show it off,
just as white summer dawns present
the crimson sun.

the mercy of the insides of her wrists,
so quick to satisfy once opened,
like a choir's collective mouth.
perfect pitch and
loud and
honest,
singing hauntingly of some crypted agony.

the mercy of the insides of her wrists.
so quick to scream.
so quick to burn.
so quick to tell the stories
that pen-laiden fingers can't.