By Autumn Owens

Your poisonous teeth bite my
heart, I am already
riddled with
disease, please
don't keep cutting ugly patterns into my
back, it hurts
more than you'd think and
as you continue to
write your petty stories, breathing them into people's
faces with your
fish-scale breath, I wonder:
if YOU were the main character
in the fiction of the week,
how would you feel about
doors slammed
in your face,
angry texts, and
cold stares?