The consequence of bitten lips, frequent
sanguine sacrificial feasts, fingertips,
ten nails all nibbled, virgin bed, discreet
ceremonial female bloodshed. Drips
defile a Laura Ashley dress. Secret-
keeper, costumed to confess daintily,
safe sins, her own, misdemeanors. The rest,
suppressed, swallowed alone. Guilt — a lady
in garnet gloves, sonambulating speech
hallucinating blood — is palmistry,
teenage hands, ouroboros the meek
may understand — abuse anxiety.
In floral patterned innocent pretense,
her fingernails are bloody evidence.



Beneath sadistic guys — bulging eyes, thin
slit grind, slick twinges tickling my veins
tormenters never see. A frog so thin
sea green, dead that I no longer strain
against gloved hands — an easy pry, my limbs
to open legged, synthetic splendor. Posed
then poked to make that magic crack of whim-
infested bone and dangle, all flexed toes.
A dozen scientific eyes — each tries
to say their fingers aren’t the ones that flip
the switch, compel my naked corpse to writhe
and spread, undead, lab table bed, last glimpse
of what they knew a year ago or more —
electric, death-defying little whore.


Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker.  Her sonnets have stalked magazines like Luna Luna, Occulum, Burning House Press, Drunk Monkeys, Anti-Heroin Chic, Fourth & Sycamore, Ghost City Review and many other publications.  Her chapbook Pink Plastic House is available from Maverick Duck Press, and her second, Shakespeare for Sociopaths, is forthcoming from The Hedgehog Poetry Press in January of 2019.  Follow her sonnets, kneesocks and secrets on Twitter: @lolaandjolie