DERREL AND BIANCA

DERREL

AND BIANCA

GIRL OF THE NIGHT

suffering in silence.

the gutter ogled

destruction by

drinking and drugs.

throughout the body

under pressure

under the voltage

cable. it's night

so your time.

you're still standing

the brand new lost

a few customers

are looking at you.

pull your dress up,

show merchandise

... they honk and

give your terms

even for you unknown.

in the night

the street is yours.

in daytime ... gnawing

by the rats

who walked through the sewer.

by night

abrasion by the

residues of

loosened thoughts.

in daytime ... the fretting

of your 'clock' ticking

counters clockwise.

but the extra

hours are a delight,

payment for pleasure,

pleasure for money

no risk for you,

you know that you ...

this is your revenge, because

on the cutting edge

there was no one.

your display not polished

exhibit dull spots, your material

is affected by rust,

the weathered shows your

life course and

your cause of death.

© Derrel and Bianca

INSIDE A CHILD

- age 17 -

I see her mother,

a fighter.

all she had lost by

gentle hands that got calluses

and did not massage her anymore

but were scraping instead.

her skin

open met.

in the wounds

he threw it

more than

a kilo of salt.

gave her a kiss

with his fists

on her cheeks.

it was a smack.

he hit her with love.

she laughed with love.

he saw disrespect.

only tears can give

rescue then he sees her

as he found her ... broken.

her previous boyfriend was a dick,

but he revive her

and then broke her.

now there was

no difference,

he was also

a dick, so she

had to act.

broken

she went through

the door, healed

she stood in the garden.

she was no longer ...

no longer more vulnerable,

she was not someone

which was to impress

by force or age

anymore.

I take a look at

this fighting child,

I see ... a born mother.

© Derrel

FRAYING

suspended from fraying

the worn wires

up to the seam

let go of the yarn

from the substance

in the night

they fall from the tissue

texts spill on you

spotless wrinkle-free

white cotton pants

thoughts give hard stools

color the world in a different

tint to deviate from the rest

words climb into the pen

oops, blue ink spots

on your legs visible

I'll put you

in the washing machine

at 60 degrees

you can smell the fresh

odor of the spring

with two green pegs

I'll hang you up the yellow line

you may flutter in the wind

© Bianca

DERREL

AND BIANCA