I’m a spoon. I turn concoctions I poor innocence into a caldron of imbibe, *******, and violence. I’m rusted from acidic negligence. I burn the hand that Weals me.
When I make her bleed, truth crunches between my mandibles. It’s cruel and scrumptious. I drool over its potential. But the sheets don’t touch father sun before I leave. She cries alone. I cry alone.
I scoop the unknowing up. I throw them into a world of trouble and confusion. My tongue passes my name, vowels never remembered. My lips **** hope and maintain an emotional facade.
I like to push it in. It hurts and I feel nothing. But I move on.