museum of impending death, by juliet cook

He tells me to drink Drano instead of wine tonight.
He tells me he’s going to replace my whining with screams
and bloody gag gifts.

He tells me he doesn’t care whether I like this or not
as he shoves his contaminated hands inside
and destroys my own space.


grey skulls piled on ground

Juliet Cook is brimming with black, grey, silver, purple, and dark red explosions. She is drawn to poetry, abstract visual art, and other forms of expression. Her poetry has appeared in a peculiar multitude of literary publications. You can find out more at

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