The Libretti · Margot White
A collection of poems written alongside the album Snakeskin.
Pit is the text volume of Snakeskin, the album by Margot White. The poems are the record’s libretti, and several are performed as spoken word over the album’s instrumentals.
Forty-four poems across five sections (Cellar, Anniversary, Mirror, Virgin Suicides, She Likes the Sun and Grass) on young womanhood, trauma, betrayal, alchemy and reclamation, written through the unflinching lens of curiosity.
This edition is the official pre-save of the single Cruelest Pill, out 13 November 2026. Every copy comes with a bookmark printed with the QR code to the pre-save.
Paperback · 44 poems
don’t go down into the cellar you’ll never make it out of there like a bird bashed to glass - the feathers will stick at your hair - you will go blind looking, or worse, you’ll bleed to death. you will go blind looking or worse you’ll bleed to death don’t go down into the cellar you’ll never make it out of there. i went down into the cellar. i had a look down there, it was worse than i thought, much, much better than i ever imagined.
From Pit · I. Cellar
i saw you were afraid of a glass seed like me I Grow, I Grow cough don’t, it’s 1894 i keep growing even when you can’t see in the dark in the shade by the moon or the places the sun refuses. Refuse me, i will keep growing. The same way you breathe. Seed to sprout and through the ground. A rose is only wild to those not from her Home.
From Pit · V. She Likes the Sun and Grass
The great thing is I had the opportunity to work with Gatsby, Completely illegally So i made sure to Let him know - I said, Just don’t tell me About your Fake crystal frogs, Gatsby, When i’m the first to know They catch the light The way Every Body Does. They catch, Film of Fire, Filmic fervor, Happenstance glory, You don’t tell a Clock to tick, for fear, It will stop ticking, Do you, Tell an avalanche the best path down the mountain? Just don’t tell me about your fake Crystal frogs, and I think we can get along fine.
From Pit · V. She Likes the Sun and Grass
compact or dense a thick house of rosebud i could sleep in its head for days White petaled, not red. The dry before rain, Queen Victorian pretense allow the rip the same Take the shears to the bud, to the bloom to the rot Pierce it quick, pierce it slow Pierce it not or a lot A rake can make a garden bare Look it square through the hedge row, and grow the sun through that little hatch, where the sparrow breaks green things can catch.
From Pit · V. She Likes the Sun and Grass
weeping in your burning sand take the fire out of me put it in your hands faces in the canyon whispered wishes breathless holy dirt holy wind sky in fairness
that tender thread your body your fingers inked by twilight your light your legs better still to speak to the curtain eve is made in this palm and silk black and wine.
what strange cold fire is this it burns to bring no heat tirelessly both tiring eternal life it offers free and if you dare to wear its sun Icarus knows a better way
About the poet
Margot White is a recording artist and poet. She won the Balcones Poetry Prize and has published poems in The Gentian, MOOF Magazine and Texas Women’s Quarterly.
