she cuts up her chips and beans, making it look like she’s eaten more than she has. whereas I pile on the chips, adding more to the Jenga of poison on the fine china. she says she’s fine. there’s nothing to see, except for the skin that’s stretching over her thinning frame. my body has too much skin, spider veins scarring this sack of fat. if I want to be loved, I need to be frail like her, innocent like her. to take off my red lipstick, wipe my nails clean of my lolita nail polish. don’t we all want to be loved in that way that makes our inner thighs tingle? the girl wants to fly away, standing on a park bench with her eyes closed. a jelly green water gun in hand, washing it all down. soon, she’ll be on the bus to utopia. the bus doesn’t come to my stop; the shower of red balloons fall in front of me before I can stick out my thumb.
pull out my lashes
dye my eyes an oily red
to free my devil
Courtenay's Corner 