i cannot stand her wealth of knowledge or the way her cheeks ***** down to her neck i hate the way she speaks in multi-syllables and similes i hate her teeth and the way she curves her mouth to grow wealthy in attention the way she reaches out with slick palms and ears disgusts me i hate her anxiety and how she thinks the way she holds a cigarette is special i cannot stand the rumbling of distress under her bones or the way her eyelids close, laden with anticipation
it's like when you squint your eyes and what's in front of you doubles each form hovering in synchronization moving in and out of focus
i have run out of words and well-formed sentences to describe to you how my skin burns and my bones are knives
what used to be talent is now a mess of pathetic failures hidden inside tangles of simple metaphors
and i cannot stop telling myself that the safety and balance that i crave is the lining of the coffin.