the scavenger's daughter

i poison roses into shriveled sentiments i should appreciate while they thrive; instead, i wonder how anyone could like a dustheap, a magpie hoarding detrimental matter that makes it hard to sleep at night. i can revamp a warm house into a hellfire i’m too guilt-ridden to escape. i can deform a golden heart into a torture device with my thumbscrewed-up brain. i’m the scavenger’s daughter wrenching herself out of shape, warping a beautiful person, or what could be, into something to hate.