Tuesday, December 30, 2008

They get stuck in your teeth so well. Words. The dramatic irony of being at a loss for words and the sheer impossibility of flossing them out or picking at them with a fine comb.

Besides, who combs their teeth? Even cannibals know to pluck the hair out before chewing so ravenously at your brains, scraping the insides of your mind, dipping salty pinkies into the places where you controlled your emotions, though it's hard to say how much control you ever did have over your emotions. After all, soap has the same effect on all eyes, pulled out of sockets or not, and hand-in-hand is hand-in-hand.

So when the words are placed so neatly between molars, it is the tongue's job to pick at them and spit them out. Don't swallow them or swill them around with whiskey flavors.

Just make sure they aren't the bread crumbs you always follow to Granny's. Because in this story, the witch eats the kids, brains, teeth, tongue and all.

And she doesn't mind the hair either.

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