the scavenger's daughter
by t.e. talbott
By melancholy galaxiesPublished about a year ago • 1 min read

i poison roses into shriveled sentiments
i should appreciate while they thrive;
instead, i wonder how anyone could like
a dustheap, a magpie
hoarding detrimental matter
that makes it hard to sleep at night.
i can revamp a warm house into a hellfire
i’m too guilt-ridden to escape.
i can deform a golden heart
into a torture device
with my thumbscrewed-up brain.
i’m the scavenger’s daughter
wrenching herself out of shape,
warping a beautiful person,
or what could be,
into something to hate.


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