on the cusp of adulthood, i sold homicide at a lemonade stand.
slaughtered mister sandman with a Desert Eagle to the head,
blowing his brains out like dust-spray chasing tumbleweed.
ground him up to shrapnel—enslaved him
to the average wanderer for the price of a lonely night per cup.
i snuck a sip myself; he didn’t taste too great. mostly piss-poor & fuckall,
i.e., addiction to hourglass-wading, minute-hand sauntering, promising
i’d meet the nadir halfway to play ring around the rosie alongside phantoms.
my gurgling stomach must’ve been mister sandman
asking for a dream.
i squeezed one of its pulp to harness nightmare:
swallowing an eagle whole, becoming
desert.
Megan Gong is a writer currently studying English at the University of Oregon. She enjoys a healthy dose of daily fanfiction and fandom content. You can find her in a perpetual conundrum—self-imposed, always.