i’m really here
I am mouth-dripping
more bat-shit than you
she’s ashy grey split ends
bearing long acrylic fingernails
that slide and tick along the tampered glass
it’s bare flesh
all burnt up
your pieces too jagged
for mind spinning sobriety
the hard shards blooming with flame
it’s your amputated leg
a terminal diagnosis
the medical nightmare
that perches on your chest
acrylic nails break the skin
with lock jaw force
heart spilling blood into your body
The hungry bed waits for you,
with its sheets twisting and its pillows stiff.
Just take a bite of the apple,
let the juice run down,
dripping and sticky.
Warm milk in a plastic cup,
Just like grandma gave me.
The perfect temperature,
no bubbles or steam.
The bed is restless,
it wants to be full.
I cut the poached eggs
you watched the yolk spill out,
beading in small yellow drops.
Dribbling onto a spongy bed of rye.
Sleep my little angel,
tell your mom you are in good hands.
The bed has you now,
twisting its cotton sheets around you,
like little tricky snakes.
And without a word they touched their bare bellies together,
Making slurping sounds.
Anna, with a drink in her hand said,
“It just made sense”.
“It just did” she repeated.
A ritual? A greeting?
To love with a knife is not love at all
With the threat of a sharp edge,
They will never grow.
Rip out all the feathers,
Hang it until the blood won’t drip.
Slice it until it has no bones,
Until it is no longer recognizable.
Serve it to the selfish and the proud,
Let it rot into the earth.
There is no animal in meat anymore.