Beach grass on my thighs, summer dress loose around my ankles,
tiny tin solders playing tag, scampering across frosted dunes.
There is no moon—only stars glowing weakly through fistfuls of fog.
My lips whisper madness, my nails claw at childhood nightmares.
Take me away, tie knots in my hair, leave me for dead.
I am unworthy, an exception to your rules.
Bitter moonlight,
a skulk of foxes,
wishes forgotten.
I never wanted
to disappoint.