by DEVIANT
Melt ego for money. I place the table-
spoons of butter on my tongue.
for the way I matter more than my mother
screaming Where did I go wrong?
We have each received some proof of what we would do for $20.
Disdain sounds better
behind nervous
laughter.
Her daughter almost ate a pat of butter
for only a fiver.
This year we must celebrate bravery.
I would never.
I would never.
You would, though.
It is easy
to bury the ego.
Desire drowned like lobster:
essential.
It is the butter’s whim
to melt from the heat
of a hungry girl’s mouth.
Yes, I am the fat one here, but somebody has to be.
My mother’s tongue, greased in demand
Don’t be precious; we all lick lips for control.
Here! Open I wish to see
She slickens in the spittle of my laughter.
DEVIANT is an American writer best known for their poetry and memoir-hybrids. They believe in the power of words, silence, and the transfiguration of that which is impolite to publicize but far too important to repress. Find them on Twitter @darlingknife.
scissors & spackle 