Santa

You woke me up with a winter whisper

against my skin with ice-dipped syllables drenched in

acid and the venom sizzled against my neck.

Santa's here bella dear, santa'll hold you tight

Santa grabbed my virgin skin, ripped it off my fucking limbs

and let it flap in the wind

like a white flag on a battlefield.

I screamed—a banshee cry, a warrior's cry—

it echoed off the north pole and

it landed right in Santa's lap.

He fed my screams through a snow-cone machine

and gave them to my neighbor's niece while

I watched her gorge on iced candy hearts

and torture-flavored cream.

Slowly, then, when he was done,

he unlaced my muscles and blood vessels

and hung me from

a puppet frame for fun.

Marionette pretty, marionette pink

marionette dance and marionette sing...

I am bones in a bag—a bag of bones

bones in a body bag tagged for home.

Merry Christmas! Christmas hoy!
It's always Christmas when you're a toy.

I'm the puppeteer's bauble, the circus clown I'm the

ring master's slave when the lights are out

and sometimes I'll yank on the marionette

strings but

it's so tiring that I let myself
forget how to think.