Pink mothballs rot
In the vice of my teeth
And she
Begs to take my cavities
From me.
Her hand is poised,
Holding kitchen scissors,
And she
Prepares to give me
A kitchen scissor lobotomy.
I swallow all her candy
That she hands to me
And she
Snips at my brain
Until my skull is empty.
I bleed out melted bon-bons;
Stain the kitchen tiles
Because she
Shook out all my insides,
Made a pinata of me.