ruined

by Yovana Milosevic





i wake up to wetness

with a howl in my low

belly sinking its teeth in tissue,

the monthly pallor stealing

pink, body red rage for not

reproducing—it says, Bleed



—you have killed this chance, too,

now suffer and never speak a dirty word

about your leaking—

the clot of it all swirls dark red spiral spat



of melted blue fucking, of kinky, red wings,

of disgusting, smothered pleasure like

clawed pads of fingers

on the softness of wedding day.





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