Mark R Slaughter


Battered Doll


A red dress for blood spilt,
Torn blouse for flesh rent;
Ladders in the stockings –
A rung for every callous blow landed.
Scuffed shoes winked about the kicks –
After all, bruise-gorged eyes can’t –
Just permanently closed.

Burning tears were scant warmth
Against a chill from ugly cries.

Lipstick smudges on the chin to
Nullify all vestiges of beauty –
Those that constituted rare patches
Of purest cream skin, from
Days of feminine joy, telling once
Upon a time there was an angel…
But now, a battered doll.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010










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woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman
woman woman
Woman
No more...

Submitted: Thursday, April 08, 2010
Edited: Saturday, September 03, 2011

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