Fawn
I tried to tell you
you,
with your wild eyes
and gun store buck knife,
start hacking at her warm flesh
you say
she’ll make a fine stew
your hands disappearing into the wetness and
the hollows of her abdomen
you turn my stomach
carve fresh hooks into my kid fears
it pleases you no end
to see me squirm
you eat at her soul
and mine
licking your chops
her gooey life’s blood dripping
to the dirt floor
splashing
sacred as a painting,
a masterpiece,
a last supper
splayed across layers of camouflage
you want me to see
to watch you
reveling
next time,
you say,
I’ll make you do it
I tried to tell you
even then
my blade was circling
***
Copyright © 03/14/2004 by Christy Munson. All rights reserved.
About the Creator
Christy Munson
My words expose what I find real and worth exploring.
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Comments (1)
Brillant!