sharp-tongued girl
how does it feel
to live with a mouthful of blood?
what does it taste like,
sucking on a lightning rod,
and the knife
sheathed between two rows of molars
too trigger-happy-quick to draw. this
is your blood, child, your choice,
the metal of words and the ash of ink,
and when did you convince yourself
that it was the window you hated
and not the mirror?
sharp-tongued girl, careful
with how you speak.
a blade cuts worst when it is kept
closed.
the snake is hungry
so the snake will eat
and eat it does, chewing, gnawing,
and will you ever notice, little thing,
that it is your own tail
you are swallowing?
from salt and foam and scales
steal the hearts of stone
nacreous shells, dying husks,
the honey-sweet flesh that once
clung to its bones
to die of thirst.
meet me at the end of the world
the space between firestorms and tsunamis
across the acid oceans
and here, where the rot
has begun to reclaim the cities at last.
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