Calypso Jones

The Victim Of The Vulnerable

we knew her, hair like silk
never tangled in the mess of midnight tresses,
never to be helping the man with inky veins
manage through this day.
we knew her, freckles scattered across the alabaster of her face,
adorning her cheekbones as dapples of light,
never feeling the harsh chill of a southern night,
face smashed into whoever resides next to her,
on a stained mattress,
too far from home,
too far from who she's been.

her voice was heavy with all that had weighed on her mind,
lost somewhere, in her head or in her heart,
its hard to ...