I am unable to resist
pouring salt on the slugs.
And the words “DON’T TAP THE GLASS”
never held any meaning
to a bitch like me.
I’m much less cruel in my head.
Their tears were once something uncharted.
And it’s not as if I enjoy the sound of men crying.
In fact, it’s only recently occurred to me
that I find them to be hauntingly dulcet.
The dark seemed like a much more
frightening place than what it actually is.
And since then I’ve shrank—
my core has crystallized and compacted
into a gallery of black encrusted diamonds.
I stared for too long
into the mouth of the abyss.
And I’ve never felt so alone.
Regret never held any meaning
to a leper like me.