in my kitchen i shiver against my manorexia and contemplate mortality

it's unsleepable Thursday and i eat an apple over the sink. tonight, every molecule of air grew its mandibles. they almost teach my skin the meaning of constellation as they teethe pink welts into my forearms. i’d itch them off, but tonight i’m too busy wondering what sinewy havoc purrs—coiled and lipless—at the bottom of my...

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