Fox-Boy Grin

Fox-Boy Grin

The Spanish sand and sea
Melt together.
Blood-drained hands
Grip cool glass
Beg for mercy
But thoughts are cut
Words slur relentlessly,
Nauseating smells smother
My Reason. Dissolved in colorless acid.

Reaching for something to steady --
Finding only deafening sneers
And subordinate silence.

Air nips at bare skin.
Exposed, as fog rolls in.
My pupils drink in my shivering
Ocean irises.

Frozen next to two
Apprehensive Angels-
Apathetic Angels.

Three Kings drift across the sand.
Their feet don’t move.
They’re not human.

Crowd in.
Their mountainous snow-white teeth
Dripping saliva.
Lust from rooftops.
It’s heavy.

Tremble, shrink
Lock doors.
A nervous smile plastered on
My cracked face.

Sand grips my ankles.
No running now.
One King,
Two steps closer.
One more.
Two Kings cackle.
Two angels weep.

I hear nothing
But muffled echos
Of funeral bells.

Rough hands yank
At thin cotton.
Screams. No -
The King is displeased.
So I mouth a shameful, weak, yes.
Two Angels sob,
Clinging to each other,
Watching me sink.
They can’t do anything.

Hands force their way down
Into doorways.
A tongue slithers past my own,
Breath trapped in my throat
Fingers and matches
Burn skin.

The angels only stare
As I am yanked up,
By a now warm hand,
Cemented to the scruff of my neck.
The King smiles, he is pleased.
Not done.
All the Kings laugh.

Pulse jitters, spikes...stops.
The King offers me a feather
And a contract written in slicing whispers.
“Sign Here.” He spits.

Spasming bones,
I sign.
Dip the black feather
In salty streams on my cheek.
I sign.
The feather falls.
Angels cast down their eyes.
They won’t look at me.

Clutch sodden garments
To my breasts.
So does the King.
The little girl in my heart
Is being dragged, whimpering, to a noose.

Eyes linger on the yellow slits on the face
Of a second King. The Fox-King. The Fox-Boy.
Beg for mercy.
Then once more.

The Fox-King snarls,
Brings that cool, stolen glass
To his curled lips.
Acid pouring from corners.
The yellow slits burn with hatred,
He brings his snout to mine,
Locks a hand under my jaw,
Kicks the stool from under my feet:

“You are in luck tonight, Carina.”
Purred the Fox-King.
“Don’t. Fuck. It. Up.”

I stopped.
Let go.
The Fox-Boy’s grin had eaten
Half my soul
Long before the King stole my body.

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