A dying boy put a crown on my head.
With the royal instrument came the sacrilegious emblem, the blemish,
Named treason, as high as the towers of malignancy go.
I had not seen my own demise in the hand-me-down accessory.
Not one flame will touch my scalp, ruin my exterior.
I will not join the ranks of women eviscerated by the devil’s element.
I have seen the remains of you.
The memories go by in shattered shards sharp to my eye.
I have seen love go by.
And leave me isolated, reduced to the core.
The winds of London could smash me apart, into pieces,
I, myself, am shattered glass, what could nine days do to me?
My assassination sinks into anonymity, my life, my identity.
I’ve been struck down in my teens.
And yet I have lived a life,
How could I have been erased so effortlessly?
I granted the butcher of me my forgiveness, an odd taste on my tongue.
Death came from a child and I smiled, the name, the pride, a woman I am.
Let my soul make the travel abruptly, the separation of my body and what
Had made me holy. I assemble all my might at the opening gate where my blood will run.
My blindfolded face, I remember the confusion still, the disorientation.
I could not find my head’s resting place, the hard chunk of wood.
Mercy and treason never go hand in hand.
I hear the dissipating and disruptive fanfares of religion, the winds come from all
Directions. I just crave for someone to hold me when I fall, to hold my head.
Who would love me still, in this disembodied state.
For I have been dehumanised for empty words and vanity.
Let there be someone to blanket me whole.
And as I’ve been guided to the block, I attached myself to a familiar heartbeat.