MlleNightingale

they cultivate the body, that pathetic carcass worn by captivity; fool the mind, bitter, weathered by rains passed, impressed upon by benevolent bullets and hot iron and ashes that captivity is the way of life triumphant she stood hurt, “free” ; survived from white man's indulgence their skin ceramic, the lie of innocence innards bear the fruits of poison-tipped rum stank pungent from panic and marrow, sucked from her bone along with “humanity” addicted to: food, shelter, clothing yet she seems to have trouble dying