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the time you buried me i discovered how fish breathe gasping through puckered lips the swell of the sea creeping closer to the sand grave fire pit. you said i was a witch and, if i'm honest, witch made more sense than slut or whore or the other sale stickers applied prior to having my fruits squeezed barcode beeped me breathing in time with cash register ding wishing i could check out. you floured me and bathed me in hot oil said i would pair well with squash or zucchini and other phallic foods let me know i was the main course you could not wait to devour. the witching came when you didn't. there was the loud thud of the no and me on the floor and then the long walk to the grave where truly you told me to bury myself and smiled as i dug the hole, you readying the makings of fire, covering me in a cake of sand and steaming the wickedness from me until i cried out please so you would hurt me in another way. i wished for a stake through my heart. you used a stake, but my heart was never what you were after.
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