by Aarushi G., 17
desperate as a follicle in the face of wax,
i don’t tell you my real name, even when you ask.
instead, i say, meet me where the decay lives.
i meant the sliver of space between my mother’s makeup drawer and my father’s cigarette stash,
but you chose to dip your toes into the lake beside the cemetery, where the wild berries grow.
here, at night, the carpet of my body is rolled flat,
for the best top surgery is the darkness of a tomb.
sit next to me, pretend,
you don’t dream of my nose,
small, delicate, feminine, nudging you to join the ghosts.
i’d drown for you, i say, lay my lungs out as manure for the algae & the bones.
i’d taste every berry, gargle with poison, if you promise it’ll touch both our tongues.
you call me a liar as i slip the first one past my lips.
the glory of sourness carves my mouth into an open window,
come, baby, see for yourself,
how you fit,
between the panes of my teeth.
Karnataka, India
Bridge Ink 