Sunflower's stomach is swelling, a hive of buzzing bees and heavenly honey and she is branded with a band of its sticky glow of "give me gratitude" that oozes out of every pore in her body that is bursting with life, stung and swollen her momma had a prune face so ripe, she had to pick it but than she threw it at the golden boy and got a golden ring and her momma's pre-me life.
a week later golden boy ant so golden after he looses his golden chance chasing after her while her girl keeps on a running, bleeding blisters and moonshine while not so golden boy throws Sunflower into the kitchen, saying "it becomes me" and so it does.
her eyes are onions, hands of knifes, and in a week, her stomach a cutting board in a week she will cut it after her legs leak out the life that was living, the life she lost when he pushed her down, booze broken teeth, money mouth, rose cheeks and thorny fists bleeding bruises all over her a week later, he'll be on the morning news, he'll be the morning news when she decides, a week later, to cut open his stomach, fry it and send it to her mother.
a week later Sunflower finds out she ate it.
how delightful.
"I'm going to visit you."
"Everyday?"
"Yes."
YOU ARE READING
JUST A DOLL, ISN'T SHE?
PoetryThis is the death of the nice girl, the disillusionment that we all needed to be one. They expected us to crawl to them, with palms up and legs open with perfect pretty painted faces and oh so sweet smiles, what a show to behold, what a horror to l...
