the before

it was real
before the words
traced the outline of lies
spewed by maidens
that aren't as fair
as the story or the poem or the song
said they would be

could not be
more than a girl
playing make-up
in grown woman's clothes
she spins in fabric
hems falsettos
with false rhythm
she thinks linear

but we live vertically
assured this is the beginning of the
after life
where nothing right
glows like the aura of evil

it permeates the soul
and slips between the sheets
if you let it
but we won't let it
still she tries
frantically
pulling for a life deferred
swallowed by self-pity
and misery
loves numbers

she too has loved in numbers
exceeding and with the exception
of the magic ONE

too bad

her heart wasn't ready for sunrises
as innocent as laughter
and untainted conversations
she is heaving now
too big to swallow
the
reponsibility of a pain
so hot
it feels like lava
boiling liquid
scalding memories
grimace
this
is what it was before
how it is
and what it will forever be
before
words
meant
anything