Low rise jeans around her ankles,
Mud splashed up white thighs,
Hurling curses up ahead of us,
Heartstrings splashing all over the walls.
Mirror spells work backwards.
May all your gentle contact crumble.
May all your purist thoughts descend.
May all your prayers mingle with animal instinct and
May your frightened eyes prepare you for all of the
Danger that lurks at the top of your stairwell.
All of your dead girl boxes
Are holed up like a discarded negative
Spilling secrets laced up loosely
Like hand-me-down dresses and
Tumbling telephone cords.
You are a wicked witch full of shivering lies
And unhappy sacrifice unto mannequin skies.
If I were ever to give anyone this miserable gift
I would second hand hit it
Laura McLaughlin has most recently been published in Honest Apple and Fourberous Orange. Fourberous is not a real word. Her work is forthcoming at Haggard and Halloo Publications.