Pragmatic Paranoias

On top of her sheets. A Disney cast between her thighs. Dialogue vomits from idle skin. Chunks of hours before coming up completely undigested.

Some would say she's shy. Most would. And they'd be correct. Every word she speaks is a debate. Every touch is a promise. Not to make too much of something so little.

She likes to think it's them, but she knows it's her.

On top of the sheets. Choosing at random princes and witches. Talking to the mirror. Wondering why it doesn't answer.

The ponytails on her backside wagging as she flaunts her infection. With a broad admiration for how she came to be this sick. She likes to say it's about recovery, but she knows it's about the sickness. All the men she can cut from this one if she folds him correctly.

She was never good with scissors, but this is easy.

The meat is cooked, but the skin is still raw.