By Ayana Bhattacharya
o daughter,
sole heir to your mother's rage and father's breaking bones
this lie has stuck itself in your throat like / a poison adam's apple
milk teeth are not to bite into the intruder
cauterise his injuries with / your junior year cigarette lighter
remnants of a broken suicide pact lay around in your room
the butcher mentioned you'd changed / he's never seen you this tall
the authorities won't care as long as you
stow away your skeletons / till halloween at least
it's all in the making of a funeral
you were promising / turned promiscuous
now, a paint splattered poet who can't get off without faking or fading
bite your tongue to taste metal / a vending machine quarter
judgement day awaits,
& god knows / a girl is its worst victim
watch from the gurney
how everything blurs / into a supercut
leave the wound as is,
let the doctor prescribe remedies / you'll never trust another man
all the dirty words in the world
and want seems to be your favourite / you've had too much to drink anyway
the morning after spent in a haze
never knowing / always doing.