Watch it, wh*re

Isabella Curiel-Ploumis


Squirming like the maggots she found

At the bottom of the trash can.

Bald head that would be shiny

But his skin was too filthy.

His stubble cuts her skin,

Thin lines of blood around her mouth, cheeks, neck.

The stench off of him, his coffee breath mixed with alcohol,

Leftover from yesterday,

Her nose numb by this point,

Not grown accustomed to it but rather

Rotted off.

Why don’t you watch where you’re going, man?

Originally Published on Vol.49 Issue 12 on April 1st, 2020