The Night Tastes Like Wine

WRITTEN BY EMILY PENG

I woke up to a man hammering my

skull, giggling as he watched dandelions

explode through the cracks. My tongue sits,

severed, in red wine & from a gaping


black hole, I scream about how I can still

taste the salt on your breath. Ax positioned

at my neck, he asks if I want to die & when

I don’t speak, he morphs into a flock of


white doves. I will his wings to fly: they

erupt, raining feathers down my tongue,

lodged between my teeth. A bird without

wings is the empty road inching along the


ridge of my spine; soul-less bodies scattered

on my floor, spelling out your name. When I

am lonely, I imagine my coccyx bone hanging

around your neck, comforted by the fact


that when I am nothing, I am your victim.

I ax my body into a golden sword & there

in the dark, I imagine your grin. My tongue

still tastes the softness you never gave to me.

I am a 17 year old Canadian-American-Chinese high school junior, a lover of dog memes & an amateur singer. My mind churns on fluttering bits of poetry & prose, forever searching for a permanence within my words. The road to immortality still stretches before me, but I'm pleased to have finally started the journey.

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