_Only Empty Fans_

What shall be her worth,
When the crows land
Beneath her eyes

What shall be her youth,
When her breasts fall like tears
Stretching till they be thin.

What shall be her worth.
When she bares no off spring
When fall comes,
And her womb is Barren
Like trees of winter.

What shall she bring,
But a bitter mouth
A harlots tongue
And hands with no womanly skill.

She is but emptiness
A void made of flesh,
A body with a malnourished soul
A hungry and feral heart.

She is a spirit
Torn by her poor judgment
Her alienation of responsibility
And morality.

She is but consumption
Of degenerercy, aching to be whole.
She is the show,

For peeping eyes of millions.