KNOCK, KNOCK
You carried knives because you couldn't trust white-washed walls.
They crept into your cave and clipped your eyelids back,
Opening your thighs like a rusty red river.
When they ask you why you cut out your eyes,
Tell them. Tell them
You could no longer bear
To see through your own.
Tell them of rattling keys,
of rusted locks,
of bloodless eyes.
Tell them you were seven.
Tell them you were only seven.
