PUSH-PIN
Your single tooth is a fang,
that snarls at me like a rabid scrap of a dog
as I hold your nobbled head between broken fingernails.
I steady the picture, keeping it straight,
and drive your cruel tooth deep into the drywall.
It’s quiet in the room, just the crunching of
fractures, spawning from your puncture wound.
Creeping up the back of the wall like veins,
you give me the sensation of dripping water tracing my
spine.
Your tooth drills into the once clean, innocent wall
that now stands broken and naked between
this room and the next.
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