Basorexia

You think you know her just because you
Smeared her mascara last night?
Darling, her hips hold stories
That will tear down the walls of your
Hollow chauvinistic pride.
The lips you kissed incorrectly
Are ones she painted with the blood in her bucket
And then woke up to change the curtains.
Her purse carries dust, smoke, glitter, portals
And knives she sharpens before your morning coffee
On the same table you attempted to break
Unaware that she let the steel loose.
Don’t be fooled by her quivering eyelashes
They hold clouds darker than
The dress your hands are itching to tear off,
Storms that will nibble your tongue
And pinch your neck
All while she’s swirling her drink
With her one hand between your legs
And the other balancing her smirk.
Are you convinced that
Her moans are for you
And so are the half breaths
And fresh flowers
And old musk?
Sweetheart, she has read too much
To fall down the rabbit hole
She has doors in her backyard
To graffiti you’d never want to see.
The wooden clock will
Strike hellfire
Against your weak spider webs,
And soon you’ll be gorging
On perfect buttery toasts
As your delusions believe it’s you
Who wanted to ruffle her sheets
While she redecorates
With newer curtains,
Higher stakes,
Deeper talons,
And her smile carved in
A darker shade of red.

- Sayantani Sarkar.