Eat Glass

By McKenna Dugdale

I am tired of chewing on the shards of things unsaid. 

Spitting them on the sidewalk--blood, bile, and bitchiness seep into the pavement. A mouth full of metal as I swallow back the stain on my teeth. A left hook leaves my lips before I can remember how to pay my dues in fucks to social propriety. 

A woman is well learned in the language of blood. And the rest of the world is desirous of it—nature takes rent payments, society shuns it, but Mr. Hyde is happy to see it on the pavement, bed, floor as he takes what wasn’t given. He loves to take from her flesh, her mouth, her soul. 

So, I’ll stain his shoes with it. Just before I take (un)valuable chunks from his flesh. If I let the lust overtake me, there won’t be a mister left standing—let alone blood thirsty—they’d be half chocking on it. 

But I’m sure they’d still find breath to hurl insults—whore, slut, bitch. I stack all their mouth-made timber before lighting the pyre in a sacrificial rite. 

These are defective. 

Scorched earth

Start anew

By McKenna Dugdale