Cancer sleeps

It was a growl of resignation.

There'd been enough sighing these days. enough playing it up for the sympathy can laughing back in stubborn glee and she, the last one in line for the fraught iron prize, was sick and tired of trying.

She was ready, already.

Closed her mouth.

Counting bullets by the bedpost where her trophies hung torn stockings. cheap showpieces. remnants of the whore she could've been if it weren't for him and his goddamn faith that they would make it, anyway.

That she...

Fuck him.

She would mount her fate, yet. she would suck the marrow from the lonely bones of the parlor games she'd played with the ghosts the nights when she was drunk and they were alone.

And she would be happy.

She would know.

This moment was her's.

The morning would open.

Belly Full of Hell.mp3