Untitled Queen

You, and your black-eyed
holes, nights lied, from my pillow
talk of nothing true.

“How dare you,” I cry.
leave your clouds of crusted white,
on the feathered down.

Twelve moons greased away,
still, you growl in a red mask,
toothpicks pop a heart.

No bones out of meat,
crank my legs like chicken wings,
finger-licking bits.

Loose, goose-pimpled flesh,
slides to the floor under-gowned
leave your eyes, my room.

Photo credit: @wandrnrose7

The picture above, taken by @wandrnrose7 is the prompt for this mornings freewrite. I chose to write a poem of sorts, and if you haven't noticed, employed a five-seven-five, syllables for haiku as a framework for my thoughts/images.
Sorry it's a bit dark because I'm really feeling much lighter than this today--just baby dolls crouched on a metal shelf!