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Think silk 
wafts of jasmine,
moments of vetiver 
emerald warring with chartreuse,
blood seducing onyx into
the crevices
Think pain
Think pleasure. 

Limbs stretched out, 
fingers falling like dew 
Satin riding waves of 
Ripe body ridges

Silver on skin,
skin on satin,
satin on cotton,
cotton on wood,
wood on floor
On days when 
the pain pins me to my bed,

I reach for gold
(necklaces, rings, bangles)
I light a match
The world waits for me.

My eyes are closed and
my home is Victorian

Pills are popped
Bong is packed
Pillows laid out like placemats

I marinate in my own blood
Ready for the bed to become
my warzone.

You know the image:

A Rich White Woman™
with nothing but her own pain,

because someone
takes care of the rest.