By Lauren Milici
The boy is careless with incisions;
dips scalpel and suture into
bourbon before making the
initial slice, breaks skin and gets lost in the
glisten of blood on near porcelain.
I imagined him fucking you.
Lauren E. Milici is a resident Dharma bum, wannabe bodhisattva, and real gone chick. She pens confessional poetry and believes that the best art is derived from naked honesty. Her work has been published, or is forthcoming, in Ishka Bibble, From A Wildflower, and Fashion Decode Magazine. She frequently posts drafts, sketches, and musings at her website, laurenemilici.com.