by Cindy O’Quinn

First published in the HWA Poetry Showcase Volume V

Editor Stephanie M. Wytovich

My scars…

Gave direction to everything bad that had already happened, and

Lent wings to my suffering – brought to the surface, all at once, with a thundering

Bang – demanding to be heard.

I butterflied his heart with a filet knife and created my very own Valentine…

Stepping from the shower, caught off guard by the reflection staring back, the 

Scars covered in water droplets danced in the mirror. A crude jigsaw puzzle thrown 

At me from life’s cabinet of horrors. 

A woman in pieces. Steel rails laid out across my empty chest, and a tunnel carved in 

Between. Unrecognizable… this person looking back. Feverish tears cutting through my face

Leaving tracks. All pain rising to the top, scars giving way.

A culmination of the past…

Oh, how I wish I smoked. I’d take one long drag and watch it float. Releasing smoke

Circles. Little ringlets blooming wings to carry the pain. Away from me and this place

Where I hurt.

My gathered words… not intended as the sum of my life, but merely a portion there of…

I’m different from everyone else and see that clearly now for what it means. Strange in 

The way my mind thinks. Excluded from that circle. They don’t see. Me. Me. Me.

Clumsy with their tools of dissection. Fumbling at my words with outdated thinking.

I squeeze in sentences and thoughts… it’s laundry day of course. Why?

Because the wind is right. Must take advantage in this cold, cold, north. The wash

Is done early if it’s to be dry by night. My fingertips are fucking numb.

Pins just so. I need more pins. Where do they all go? They run and hide from me

Or the forest fairies steal them at night. Either way, there’s never enough pins

To hang them, just so. When that blasted wind is just right.

Nothing but darkness, comes from this winter sky. The patient vultures circle

Waiting for me to die. I tore one from flight as it circled in the sky and watched

As it lingered in its death. They play possum, only to skirt away from a blind eye.

Boom goes my mind, when I’m hungry for the fruit of my labors. Instead, I digress

And fill my belly with your lies, which have long since soured on your breath. The 

Preacher preached while others watched. They all ate flesh.

I butterflied his heart with a filet knife and created my very own Valentine…

Little About The Author:

Cindy O'Quinn is an Appalachian writer from the beautiful mountains of West Virginia, where she was steeped in folklore from an early age. Now living in the woods of northern Maine with her husband and two sons. She is a horror loving, photo taking, herb gathering, tincture making, homesteader.

Cindy submitted her poem, "Gathered Words", from the Horror Writers Association Poetry Showcase Vol. V, which was edited by Stephanie Wytovich. Valentine's Day is quickly approaching, and she thought the dark words would be a tasty morsel.

Works published or forthcoming in Space & Time Magazine, Sanitarium Magazine, Speculative City, Moonchild Magazine, Weirdbook Magazine, Shotgun Honey Presents Volume 4: Recoil, and Cindy's story, "Lydia", was nominated for a 2019 HWA Bram Stoker Award.The story was part of The Twisted Book of Shadows Anthology, which went on to win a Shirley Jackson Award.

Follow Cindy on Instagram at @cindy.oquinn, Facebook @CindyOQuinnWriter, and Twitter @COQuinnWrites.