My, grandma, what a sharp tongue you have

[apiphile]

knock, knock

I take heed of the small cues and the
not so small clues like the way you cut
my face from all those photographs; the
horses shy back whenever you come near, eyes
white with fear and the dogs won't come
to heel - oh baby, I know how they feel
to walk in the shadow of your malevolence
but you keep telling the buzzing camera
that we're friends, we're friends, so close
(you laugh with your head on one side)
that we might be twins, inside each others'
so-different skins, like you believe
that the one who lies the loudest wins -
but I've tasted your hatred so often
my soul is getting fat, and I've seen
your ugly heart, and there's no cure
for that.