Saint Mary

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She silently stops around the island in the middle of the kitchen.
Foulness written into her face lines.
If anyone could shake her -- Etch-a-Sketch --
her face would remain Frozen in its form.
Maybe the way the salt sits in the shaker annoys her --
or the reflection of her portrait within the thrice polished counter is something she is trying to erase.
She can feel it though.
All the way down in Her bones --
And it spreads --
poison ivy without the need of touch.
Stealing the air from innocent mouths that haven't even tasted a day unspoiled.
The thought has occurred that she is unable to remove the mask that holds those around her captive, but --
Darkness has a way of revealing where gunshots begin.

"studied subjects"

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