THE EDITOR'S SONNET

Hello. I've been assigned to slaughter
your darlings. Don't worry, you won't feel
a thing. I'll gently lead you to water,
then shove your head under.
Slasher cum surgeon, I wield steel
and feed the fat to the hogs.
I drain and pave over your marshes and bogs.
Your story's our bastard daughter.
I'm not bothered that you don't credit me as the father.
It's all part of our barter.
Enough to know that I've cured your disorder.
Most limbs are stronger a foot or two shorter.