I lay my neck on the blade of your axe.
My throat will bleed if I speak.
You tell me
you've been telling me lies.
You're revising every laugh
and every caress to restore truth
to the past. You explain
what I've done to deserve this.
You feel much better, now.
I feel like a dwarf in a fun house.
No mirror will ever be normal again.
Shrunken, twisted, I spin
and claw at glass.
I don't know how to be seven
distorted versions of myself.
So, take my head off! Why wait?
Ah, we are stuck. You won't let go
and I won't move my neck.
Fine red lines stripe my pharynx,
raw callouses bubble on your hands,
while axes multiply
and infinite mirrors lie.
First published in Raven