imthefoolonthehill

Self-Portraits Every October


You told me I looked manic

While my eyes and the knife glistened,

But I know what those pumpkins plot.

So I stab to settle some sort of score.

Because I know that their connections run deep,

All the way back to the patch.

Still, you said, let them die with dignity.

Instead, I etch my smile into their skin.