Suspiria

does it turn you on?

these shards of glass in my eyes?

my body is worth less

than the exoskeleton of a maggot

devouring a rotted corpse.

eat them, eat me,

it all tastes the same anyways.

they cry witch

but it means nothing.

it’s always witch

when it should be

me, flesh on fire,

skin crackling—little pops of sound

that funnel into my ear drums.

take a bite of the body.

you don’t care if it’s living,

it’s still sweet,

little granules of sugar trapped

under my open heart cavity

—blood and tangled vein

over my slick pink pulse.

gore so delicious,

I couldn’t pry you off the taste

if I swept down and clawed out your eyes.

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Art by Marisa Sirichartchai