< formication > by Mia Golden (13, California)*

1 / you remember when you would drink levity mixed with gatorade and juice boxes
2 / and when curiosity would fizz with carbonated fountain sodas [free refills; try sprite mixed with cola]
3 / and you dedicate your vigils to warding off boredom and desperation [and god forbid you’ll ever drink black coffee]
4 / if you have enough of anything, the taste evaporates on your tongue
5 / you hope that existence has a long shelf life; that living won’t grow stale

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/~/~/~/
 
the insects watch on as you stain your lips mahogany. the millipedes trample your follicles and you try to grab them, to brush them off, but they spew from your pores and coat your eyelashes.
 
and the ants  r a t t l e  in your skull / and the mosquitos  g n a w  at your aorta /
 
and they cultivate their young in your blisters / the larvae drain your pus and
                                                                                   m u l t i p l y
 
the mealworms lie in the tenebrous gaps between your vertebrae and tenaciously eat away your cartilage / the ladybug dilutes the discomfort, but her sisters rest under your clumsy sutures, thrumming with the beat of your arrhythmic heart / your vision darkens; have the beetles severed your optic nerve?
 
you wish for any form of catharsis and you tear your crawling skin away in slabs / tucking them / away for safekeeping and / the termites coat your tongue and / their pincers snap your vocal chords before you have a chance to scream . . .
 
/~/~/~/
 
and the pests looked on as you traded khaki jumpers for skirts, skirts for jeans, jeans for slacks. they laid their eggs in your splintered scrapes [sweaty palms and monkey bars do not mix] and they trace their sonnets onto your calves while you lay awake, struggling to fall asleep.
 
you wore your slacks with pride, but soon you’ll trade them for a hospital gown / the maggots sleep in your pockets until then, curling around empty mint wrappers /
 
< they’re lying in to wait >

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