When blood roses swirl down the toilet
I know the time has come
to banish Mickey Mouse
and reel in textbooks
heavier than Cinderella’s pumpkin coach.
Some nights
I hear them whispering my name.
Desperate for entry,
their gentle scratches yank me
backward
a thousand years.
As always,
I am left abandoned.
Flattened tears
in a pyramid shape
form that familiar face.