don't die press

Nightmare

by , on
2020-08-10

New poem by Melissa Garcia Criscuolo

Locusts spout
from his hole
of a mouth
and his tongue
escapes a fat black
leech at my
neck his lips press
rubbing alcohol
into my cut
flesh pinned
under his torso
I do not want
this his words
slice me
like a rusty
scalpel and I
am running
out of gauze