Lizzy Burnam 🐞

Poor opossum, mouth shut tight like mimosas at dusk and a pinky-sized switchblade still stuck in your boot. Did you want me to baby you? You knew, crawling under that bridge, what a little curiosity could do. Playing dead attracts nothing but vultures and vaudevillian maggot-spinners who want to reenact the tangled scene with you. Get ahold of yourself. Stitch the tongue he cut out back into your mouth and learn to say your name again—out loud—until the swirling red storm in your dumbstruck mind releases you from limbo and light cracks you open like the moon’s canny eye.