Cigarette 1

Admit this is sex or laxative. An Italian name on a German face - his name was; 

Don't you say it. Cancer is but a cheap metaphor, 

A yuppie prayer, the playful rush of disagreement was found

By rodents on the rooftop, at a bedbug-backyard wedding.

Don't call him back, babe. Girl, those German boys smoke 

Like salmon, dynamite, dead babies in the basement of a funeral

Home. Which sorority is the Kent 100 sisterhood?

Which college will spit out, on, and in my youngest daughter? 

And instead, she does not die as pigs do; no

Sullen metaphor about lungs, teeth, or tar. 

It was actually quite fun, in spite of something sick. It 

Was actually just hereditary colon cancer in the end.

It seems like all I ever write about now is

Dead women.

About the Author

Molly Jones is a sophomore English major with a concentration in creative writing. She focuses on short horror and speculative fiction of all kinds. Her most recent work can be found in the Spring Issue of Aberration Labyrinth horror magazine!