I honestly didn't know my head was going to do that.
You gotta believe me.
But maybe you shouldn't.
For the last week,
each friend has had a hand in my stomach,
grasped some twirly intestines
and squeezed until they oozed
and made those tasty squelching noises.
My parents insist on my ribcage.
They grip their teeth on the lowest one
and snap off a rib.
CRACK.
And the dust of the bones
sprinkles down on my guts like sugar,
hanging below my waist,
a mutilated birthday cake.
My mother starts to chew,
but her anesthetic teeth crumble,
sailing to the kitchen floor,
bouncing off the glaring wood.
My father chews heartily,
a glutton for the tender meat still
swinging from the bone.
The flesh slides down his throat with ease.
Above me, God is laughing,
shining his fluorescent light on my skin.
Around me, those I cherish
hold tightly to their dissected treasures,
each unwilling to set me free.
End: 10:48 pm
Thurs. Sept. 10, 09 |
Submission Name: Cleaning Up After
