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By Sonam Kaloti, Arts Editor

diagnose this. 
twist my arm, 
pull my ear,
I have all the power here.
try me once
I’ll decide you have lived enough.

don’t turn around,
a demon with pink hair stands her ground.
better frown, lest you smile—
she’ll slice your vile grin and go.

the smell of matchsticks burns in the backyard
piles of my last six up in smoke.
make yourself at home,
all the ghosts, all the crazies.
look inside the mirror
what I fear
stands behind me.
I am not alone,
I have bones in my closet.
make yourself at home,
we are not alone.