The Black Napkin Volume 1 Issue 5 - Page 12

8

maybe the cure is to keep

pouring this potion into

my body.

the next night, i take the an

even colder bottle and

instead of filling the crevice

where my demons spill out, I pour a

thousand tons of this bubbly spell

into my ruby socket. I cough a little,

a crackle in my throat. the throat speaks

its jealousy.

the next night,

a pack of cigarettes

speaks to me.

my princess.

they call me.

so i oblige.

the next night,

heart hole half full. I mix another

potion for my spell. a drop of

vodka, a beer, two sips of champagne,

a full moon, a lover’s eye, the hint of

trouble, a fruit, two blackened lungs

& a cup of sorrow.

this night, the bugs are violent

& they multiply & grow in size.

they devour my innards but they

detest the taste of my epidermis.

they leave a shell, an exoskeleton

of a human, a frail thin covering

for the wicked, cruel world.

Illustration by Chelsi Rossi

Instagram: @_chiles