zipper

there is a zipper at the nape of her neck,

a vein of black metal dripping between vertebrae,

and at night she reaches back,

taking the metal between forefinger and thumb,

pulling until her skin ripples like satin,

pooling around her hips,

a shroud of mortality cast aside.

she stands alone in the vacuum of her chest,

fingers moving with frightning familiarity.

hands twist between a ribcage of glass and silver-

the chandalier that adorns this empty place-

And gently she removes the corpses.

three doves, necks snapped cleanly,

the beginnings of sentances she never bothered to finish.

the butterflies that once danced among blushing cheeks and a shy smile,

wings torn off by a boy who liked breaking hearts a little too much.

a doe, all wide eyes and innocence,

shot five times in the chest by words she wasn't supposed to hear.

she buries them under her pillow,

prays their phantom screams will not wake her,

and with the tug of a zipper-

the stitching of a smile-

she is human again.