Expressed Vessel

Corrugated box with floppy wings howling from a gape--that mournful dog. My duty manifests threads unraveled by revelation in Svetlana's isolated face laminated on cardboard, pleading with me to share a phantom dance as her tension wanders in tepid waters; distance compels skating ambition until scandalous betrayal spits brutal retribution, jealous rage and sharpened jabs to expel vicious silence. He debates the scoundrel in the mirror, eyes defiant: refuse to surrender, shred the doll and bundle those discarded husks, conceal the torment-- shed the flesh down the drain to Truman Reservoir. Daddy guards your journey never vanquished, yet balking, Svetlana’s skull in the trunk-- a boulder too great to throw. "Mommy will be okay," pins down his mantra. Mercy secures wings with a blabbering tape gun.