there’s a demon in my belly, at least one.
a hell couple in my guts whispering secrets up through my throat
my throat, my throat, my throat.
i know because caroline tells me so
and maggie may tells me i must be possessed.
well she’s a gen x baby so she must be right,
well i’m out cold when it happens, and sometimes
i think about the traps i’ll lay out in my bed
to catch those secrets the moment they escape my lips.
i talk in my sleep, you see.
mumbling, nonsensical, but they’re words.
secrets, my secrets.
“daddy says it’s demons,” so it must be,
because daddy brewed me from a hellish place
and rued the day i came out with the wrong parts.
daughter or demon?
i talk in my sleep, they say.
you’re supposed to utter the word “rabbit” on the first of the month
when you wake, let it be the first word out of your mouth.
good fortune, i suppose.
but i talk in my sleep, you know.
i still utter “rabbit”, but what use is it when it’s not the first?
what good is it if my luck has never been in the cards anyway?
the only thing i can tell you
is that demons hate rabbits.
I was wondering if you could make a picture of rad and Raymond cuddling