Grooming

Her arms are dried twigs you could easily snap,
Coil black and hollow, badly burnt by the sun.
Her body housed termites,
Eating up foundations and walls.
She has no roots whatsoever planted beneath her feet.
Still grows everywhere like piss mushroom or
Stray grass on a cornfield.
If her body was the earth,
Her hair, the blades of grass,
You gather them all by the palm of your hands.
Then pull it out of the ground.
Severed, head unattached.
Out curdling pretzel spine,
Blood and innards spewing out,
But it's just nurturing soil.
Pluck her out up to the deepest root
So it wont ever grow again.
Carted off and wheeled away.
Segregate towards decay.
Finding resolve on girly bars and seedy joints,
Spreading seeds and drinking lead.
A man who tends his garden very well.

--NoUseForAName

This one has a lot of interpretations and I think I like it that way... There's a certain mystery into it.