Pink Lenses

The cold war never ended.
The airplane sounds,
AC sounds
—deceptive
Humming and buzzing,
blue and black.
Come come come get me,
I say. I’m not not not not afraid.

Pink lenses.
They darken everyday.
once to burgundy, once to black
until I get the guts to change them out.
Guts for the split second of
blindness to my attackers:
The midget Russes in white,
with scalpels in hand.
Waiting, waiting, waiting
for me in the dark.

My sweetheart is a psychopath.
They hired him to love me.
I can tell by that wolf-y laugh
he pulls and tries to soften with moonlight.
Street lamps are warnings.
You can’t fool me,
you little brown-haired boy.
You’ll try to boil me someday, I know.
I’ll knock you out with the umbrella
I always carry. I’ll hit you with the wooden hook.

One day, I’ll go missing.
lost in a black hole, in a kitchen.
Until I wash my face.
Until my teeth grow in.