A study in terror,

the ingénue’s teeth, white

sharp scissors cut a gasp.

All of her body is

sharp, sharp, sharp,

her clavicle and lash-line,

her red curled toes,

her braless little breasts

like soft triangles.

And yet her mouth

is a place I want to go in,

like the darkest bedroom in the world.

I want to touch her blonde.

It’s disgusting. She eats

cotton to keep her skinny

from turning on her.

She snorts cinnamon to keep

her lips so red. I know

what’s going on here, I have

studied this kind of thing.

Sex is death, and this girl

has seen some. The knife

is going to get her and we

are going to like it. We

might as well be screaming

die, bitch, die.

We might as well be

picking out death’s method

from the wall of

a toolhouse shed. Shovel,

hedge-clippers, trash bag,

mower. Just how dirty can

your imagination go?

I grew up on fairy tales,

I can imagine quite a bit.

He wants to eat her

liver, he wants to pump

her blood with iron and suck

out her veins with a magnet.

We’re still with him, we want

to be part of the gut machine.

Until it’s just about

over, her eyes are going

to stop glittering, I almost

change my mind about this.

It’s not that I like her. It’s just

when she screams at him,

What do you want from me?

I know what she means.