FANGMARKS

She says she sings for the love of it.

But I’ve seen her in the silence.

It’s not the applause she drinks

it’s the breath they forget to take

when she opens her throat.

That night,

she didn’t bless the room.

She summoned it.

Guitar slung like a secret,

eyes a dare few would take,

Sang like a sin confessed twice

once for the memory,

again for the price.

Tea turned to whiskey,

paid for in a wink.

It was a promise

with teeth.

The chords climbed my spine

like an army trained to find

where the bones had cracked.

Whatever she left behind

still lives in the part of me

that pretends to be fine.

She walks the world dressed in softness,

but there are no feathers in her song.

Just fang