Brains Down the Hall
We were sitting on the couch when I felt a hole
blow through the top of my skull.
I slumped down to the patina rug
and crawled like a devil to the bathroom
and cried as the roaches watched me
die on a filthy laminate floor.
You sat in there like nothing happened—
like I wasn’t dying in the other room
and I got so angry that I dragged my corpse
down the hall—
and let my slithering limbs
leave crimson trails—
and I flung myself on the bed
and felt a warm pool begin to swell
at the base of my neck.
And it reminded me of you as it oozed
down the length of my spine.
I took an icepick and stabbed it through the wall
and I stabbed—and chipped away
until a cloud of plaster
settled on the tip of my tongue.
I clawed with my claws
and their quicks began to bleed
and when I reached its bones…
I painted motifs on the beams.
I hibernated among the splinters
and listened to everything
that old house had to say—
I would slink through the plaster
and crouch between beams
and you would patch my burrow—
and never flinch when I screamed.
Kelsey Mae is a 21 yr/old student at the University of North Texas; thriving poet, poised ballerina, and plant enthusiast. She enjoys watching documentaries with the subtitles on, while sipping on a smooth IPA. Edgar Allen Poe, is who she’d most like to meet and it would be great to be adopted by Dita Von Teese. She aspires to run a small publishing company and be a poor poet for the rest of her days.