she sews her lips shut with barbed wire
& wipes with an (un)sanitary napkin.
for maximum absorption, she thinks.
her one-eyed porcelain doll cries
when she throws it & whimpers 'mine'
just before it connects with the wall.
she attempts to smile (smirk, rather)
- tearing tender skin - knowing that
the jewel on her tongue is trapped
within the selfmade womb. victory,
she thinks, is easy when one has
iching fingers & a compelling nature.
she switches the safety of the gun
on, off, on, off, on, off, on, off

her fingers trace the swastika on her thigh
& she wonders if she even deserves it