Call the monsters
They Come
Feed them
They stay

I remember
Curling into fragments
Of forgotten apple cores
Rotting with every
Decayed shard of my skull
I kept hidden
Beneath the tiles
Of my bedroom floor

And I still feel the need to look at them…
And sometimes nibble on the pink flesh

My skin hasn’t tasted needles
In so long…
Yet the stains still remain
On otherwise
Perfect porcelain

Here they come

Monsters that smell of dust
That speak in tongues of memory

There are three


The slender one has hair like the earth,
And arms like cold branches
Her hands red
Holding hallow orange
Bottles

“ Just take care of your sister. Hand me some paper.”
Her body convulses in sick spasms
Her mouth leaking white
Eyes vacant
Even for
The smallest, who shrieked,
“ Mommy please don’t die!”

Her voice left my teeth shaking
And my fingers biting my eyes

[I saw the smiling bottles…
And the hungry hands
I just pretended
I wasn’t there…]

And then the eldest
His eyes melted from his stone face
His mouth smelt like beer
“ I didn’t mean to lie…I just love her…and I wanted her to look good.”

Their voices make my skull shatter
Like assassinated flowers

I eat the monsters alive
Then vomit under the tiles
To marinade in pink pedals
And the remnants of my past purges

[I sewed my skull back together though]

I showed them

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