Harlequin Rose (Nebraska)

They say she was crazy
but not just regular crazy
you know that stubborn, repetitious kind of crazy
that gets on people's nerves?
Yeah, that's her
she keeps finger paintings
and Daguerreotypes of her ancestors
in a safe at the foot of her bed
and talks to ghosts
when no one else is around
she experiments with distance
for the sake of indifference
and brings forth a daughter
and names her Mistake
for she was born of the blood of rape
but her secret is safe in my hands
see, she's not cut out
to be cookie cutter
she's a woman with a story
that's been told a maximum of one soul
maybe less
the truth is
until last night
she was missing the key
to the place she forgot existed
that place between belief
and what you name it
that place where God becomes real
that place where blood is pure
and flowers remain uncut.

Screams can be heard
echoing down the corridors
and hollow places
where she takes shelter
spiderwebs are forming
but they are torn and broken
in a winter wind
indifferent to their beauty
she floats on
she's crazy
she's complicated
she's a sociopath
she lays her head on God's lap
and inhales the scent between his legs
God is becoming real
God is normal on this day...

She committed suicide just to get away.