Dana Knott's writing has recently appeared in The American Journal of Poetry, Parhelion, Ethel Zine, FERAL, and Rejection Letters. Currently, she works as an academic library director in Ohio, and is the editor of tiny wren lit.
I offer greed and lust. Most of you
choose self-destruction. You don’t
even need my help to put the needle in.
You walk on broken glass and think
you are walking on water.
You see everything as crystal.
It doesn’t take much for you
to sleep with the wrong people
or to refuse to yield on Yellow.
Sirens blast your ears, but you
choose to ride out the storm.
You kneel before me and accept
my bitter pill like a host. You consume
your own body and ask for more.
Exhausted, you may fall into
a chair for therapy and experience
those moments of clarity. You confront
your secrets yet still repeat the lies
your great-great-grandfather wove
like crystalline threads of spun sugar
that melt easily on your tongue.
Please borrow my pen to write
your final note when you’re tired
and have had enough. I’ll kiss
each eyelid as you drift into dream.
This time and maybe no other
you will wake. I will say Behold
as I pull the shade, molten gold
rays spilling across your pale face.