the monster looks down at her fattened shell. our insides are far more beautiful than outward. the intestines thaw out to create bows for ballet shoes. the man loves eyeballs in his martini. 

leave your persona 
at the door and remove your 
diamanté cat mask 

pussy, you’d say. pussy, it’ll be ok. we’re not eating food off old plates. our kitchen isn’t covered in dust and grime. you can throw my box of condoms in the trash; I’ll get some more from the dollar store. take your hand out the can of pringles. plop a few cherries in your glass, pussy. It won’t last. 

neon strip lit bridge, won’t I 
if I fall off this
find her damaged goods

when she picked up that knife, she knew how soft your skin was and how hard to push. she knew about us before we were aware. for supper, we had phone sex, the audio cutting off just before the big finish. 

my slack jaw hangs loose
while I ask for repentance 
from society

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