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Tick Snip

She creeps out of bed naked

in a coat of hours; the time it took for mourning

to meet morning. Curtains drawn and scissors in hand-

tick. Then snip.


Hair falls to the carpet while the mirror pleads

at her shut eyes: please open I crave for your iris to be mine. But no only-

tick. Then snip.


Strand atop strand until scissors cut through empty air;

her hair is gone. Lungs clamp tight, peeling eyes, then cold metal to toes-

tick. Then snip.


Red runs from open holes. Squirming at the failed attempts to breathe

she is dying she is smiling she is ending she is submerging into the lullaby-

tick. Then tick.

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What Are You Scared Of?

What are you scared of?

Let me know so I can use it to slit your throat,

so I can carve your flesh a more genuine smile.

Allow me to arouse your fear

and make those neglected thoughts seep into the sharp end

of reality. Let fear kiss your insides. Let fear grow teeth

that exist to violate your one sided bliss;

I want to see your joy begin to seethe.

How can you be so reserved?

You deserve to feel horrified. Snap your spine

there is no need to run when you may crawl,

it would teach you that the perfect escape

is not when you leave as yourself, but as someone else

who feels certain that they are alive. The screams, howls,

gushing guts, split tongues, and the urge to sin

will surely suffice. And wouldn’t it feel nice to know that you are alive?

So I’ll ask you once more:

What are you scared of?

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