Little doll, little girl
tell me where to cut.

The edges of skin?
The worm-eaten flesh?
The tangled hair?
The broken ribs?

I will make you look alive.
I will snip this ragged lifeline,
sever these frostbitten fingers,
pat you down with honey and wax.

I told you to stay away from strangers.
I told you to never open that door.
I told you to stay in bed, in the dark
where it was safe.

Now where shall I start
cutting away the rot?