Canadian Psycho by Kristin Garth

Pat Bateman didn’t trust a bitch. My bard
American, my bible psychotic,
my prophet takes no slaves. His bed discards
its contents to a grave. Sluts are toxic.

Mine serves my psychosis, symbiosis —
her virgin sister triazolam. Gift
she opens for me like the rest, Christmas.
My bondage Barbie works the graveyard shift.

She uses bruises, 12 year plea. It’s life,
in cage, a cube, for me. Then video truth:
drugs drinks, her rapes with glee. Now, mother, wife,
a grade school volunteer despite film proof.

I end, a psycho, all alone the same.
A snitch/slave/wife bests master at his game.

Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker.   Her sonnets have stalked the pages of Infernal Ink, Occulum, Anti-Heroin Chic, Faded Out, Paper and Ink Zine, Drunk Monkeys and many other publications. Her poetry dollhouse chapbook Pink Plastic House is available through Maverick Duck Press (  Follow her on Twitter: @lolaandjolie.

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