:: Bows low to you:: Thank thee so much for blessing me with your purchase from my store, every little bit helps me to my final goal. Have a rainbow day
Irony licks the latex powder from my sweating hands, and covers them in gloves. I can feel its eyes upon me, and you are still there, feeling compelled to crush my fractured grace, tasting blood and saliva cocktails.
Your teeth crimp my muscles like folded papers and little torn dolls, tightening make-up dripping off our painted faces. One cracked high-heeled boot at a time.
I saw you only briefly, love: and I crumbled into the dust mote sunbeams. You were Hemingway and Longfellow slicked in calligraphy and pastels, maybe with cursive curling at the corners of your eyes.
You had bone ulcers and the acid in your body was distorting your face. My blue veins stood: isolated, begging, pleading, popping. Paranoia burning violet in my blood, hollow as the spaces between my eyelids.
I was an angel once, but now commas cuff me to bedposts and I don't trust you from behind these dash-mark blindfolds. I can feel your teeth sink into my parchment skin, the kind I wear as a birdcage that I want to be filled with jellyfish.
I could list all the ways I love you in Elizabethan drama and Victorian poetry. Or maybe I could label all your tortures in archaic philosophy, siding with Plato because he echoes through the leafed-in columns of my classical skull.
But who's to say that an obsolete biology term isn't the best: because it's not.
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