Girl At The End Of The World

here at the end of the world,
hung by my heels,
my dress stinking of smoke from the bombardment,
picking glass out of my hair 
and my words to the military governor very carefully,

i am not the girl you remember
from the ball,
the one they built the jeweled staircase for,
just so I could descend it.

i never thought i would be the kind of girl to beg,
to promise vulgar rewards,
the kind of girl who would do anything, no matter how degrading,
if only i could get away from you,
hanging next to me
making small talk.

for a lady in my position,
the bright blood trickling from my mouth becomes an involuntary smile,
encouraging you,
and oh, dear Goddess,
you're going to tell me about your younger days,
aren't you?
you're going to rattle on about your children and grandchildren
until i want nothing except to die;
i just know you are,
i can see it in your eyes.

i am going to deliberately provoke the military governor,
so that he will order artillery shoved in my ear and fired,
blowing my happy brains out 
before you can move on to the time you went camping near Carlsbad.

here at the end of the world,
hung by my heels,
lit on fire and stripped of my dainty little gloves,
my dance hall days are over for good.
out of options and batshit nasty,

i'm not the girl you mistake me for--
the straight one,
the nice one,
the one who just loves your stories,
finds you charming 
and wishes you'd tell her more.
______