Adriene Crimson

…to the smooth, cardiac muscle.

the basement
tho furnished
seemed without egress

that girl down there
with all sweetness and light
feels no room
for bitter and dark

meringue

irish stout

can they not be favored by a similar palate?
do they not serve similar, yet completely different epicurian purposes?

would the basement
be of increased interest
with a window?

would the girl
end the digging
digging
DIGGING
D
I
G
G
I
N
G
DIGGING
into herself

thru all of the protective layers
deep into vulnerability
beyond safety
where the blood flows
sharp
crimson
thick
salty
appendages torn
barely useful
from all of the
D
I
G
G
I
N
G

‘must, fix, must, fix, must, fix.must.fix.must.fix.mustfixmustfixfixfixfixfixfixfixfix’

‘this basement is dark’

she destroys the wall and walks outside

she tries floating the meringue in the irish stout
not exactly what she was trying to do
but it’s too late now

and even with the sky blown open
and the grass underfoot
it’s still fucking dark
and now there’s candy in her beer
and a cut all the way to her heart

and she put it there herself

thinking it would fix things