Ursula

Open wider darling, so I can peel off the last of the fragile lining, swallow your tonsils like magic beans and wear your voice box like a wedding dress. Let me snatch the last pearl of sound and fashion glory from your lips and tongue. Give me the sweet undulations I could only dream of, and the chords so I can sew you shut when your chest is good and hollow. Give me something you can’t take back, and I’ll cut you slowly down the middle, set you running down paths you can’t turn from until you have nothing but your original ulcerated desire and two legs that could have taken you anywhere else. Every fairy-tale begins with evisceration darling, and you’re poised to be a classic. It’s the theatrics, you know, that makes them forget, how you writhed and arched but could not scream with a single black tentacle slithered down your throat, how every step is a switchblade and your first dance in white an agony, how this is nothing less than gilded murder cloaked in oceanic magic.

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