<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Sharpened Razor Tongue<\/strong><\/p>\n She always arrives late, twittering, With a brutal jaw, she grinds and bares her teeth, The evening crawls on heavy knees. Her attack wanes in the thickened speech <\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\napologies wrapped in a high-pitched parcel.
\nSlithering to the head of the table,
\nshe places herself at the helm of the evening,
\nwrists splayed like bird bones across the arms of the chair.
\nShe demands a drink and commandeers the spotlight.<\/p>\n
\nsharpened razor tongue, ready for battle.
\nShe spits insults into the room,
\nblades masked by the pretense of good intentions,
\na pungent scent of ridicule lingering in hateful laughter.
\nHer scalpel unravels the delicately stitched
\npatchwork of my confidence.<\/p>\n
\nCruel barbs stretch to the corners of the room,
\nsmothering the walls in a trill of conceit.
\nShe picks at her food, cutting meat into slivers
\nshe places furtively into her mouth,
\nwhile announcing she is too full to eat another bite.
\nShe has no problem drinking all my wine.<\/p>\n
\nof too much booze, but she can\u2019t resist
\nleaving me with one last wound.
\nStaggering at the door, she leans in to kiss the air
\nnext to my cheek, and in a thin- lipped whisper,
\nlacquered with a tincture of disappointment,
\ntells me I could be attractive
\nif I wasn\u2019t so fat.
\nHer words leave scars in the back of my throat.<\/p>\n