eyelashes
dying butterflies
curled as question marks
on lids lined with lead
and shadowed in the eclipse
of moons so tired
tired
tried
fingernails
tiny dancers
falling too quick
jagged and jaded
and catching on your edges
until they pull
pull
peel
viola veins
a strummer’s strings
fretted and fated in symphony
a song of psychotics
and sanguine semitones
but seldom heard when they snap
snap
stop
—
Alex Creece collects teeth and other biohazards. She is a sci-fi spinster whose frightful existence is probably random number generated. Sometimes she bleats into the unforgiving abyss, and it echoes here: www.creecedpaper.com
Photo by: Ana Prundaru