Smile, they say.
Their claws jut themselves into the soft flesh of my cheeks.
They slowly but surely push my lips up into a shape resembling a child’s drawing of a boat.
A boat that I do not row.
That’s better they say, as they blink at me with expressions stuck in place by their own demons’ claws.
Their claws jut themselves into the soft flesh of my cheeks.
They slowly but surely push my lips up into a shape resembling a child’s drawing of a boat.
A boat that I do not row.
That’s better they say, as they blink at me with expressions stuck in place by their own demons’ claws.
Gargi Vyas