Facilitating the Famine

Bragging excuses bored with themselves. Becoming me. Ginger snaps. Radishes. Bitter. Tart. And sweet indiscretions know me better than I should've allowed. Casual lovers make the best enemies when a villain is needed to negotiate the questionable contracts with the past. present. future. All of it colliding. A kaleidoscope of moments. Vigorously swallowed up by and shit out of each other. Nothing. Patterns absorbed.

No one.

Details absolved. Time gnaws. Dull teeth turn the meat to dust. Remove the skin. The muscle smiles. Eat me. I am strong and you need me. The cells dance a sub molecular samba. I wish I could see, but I can only feel them forgetting where they are. If they are close enough to each other to hold us together.

Her mood is euphoric melancholy. Her future is blank. Her excuses are gone. Her skin is missing, but the meat is still uneaten.