8
the next night, i take the an
even colder bottle and
instead of filling the crevice
where my demons spill out, I pour a
thousand tons of this bubbly spell
into my ruby socket. I cough a little,
a crackle in my throat. the throat speaks
its jealousy.
the next night,
a pack of cigarettes
speaks to me.
they call me.
so i oblige.
the next night,
heart hole half full. I mix another
potion for my spell. a drop of
vodka, a beer, two sips of champagne,
a full moon, a lover’s eye, the hint of
trouble, a fruit, two blackened lungs
& a cup of sorrow.
this night, the bugs are violent
& they multiply & grow in size.
they devour my innards but they
detest the taste of my epidermis.
they leave a shell, an exoskeleton
of a human, a frail thin covering
for the wicked, cruel world.
Illustration by Chelsi Rossi
Instagram: @_chiles