skinny girls make pretty graves (tw: ed)

watch them walk by-

pale, sickly, and utterly beautiful,

watch them crawl by, waxy little knees,

watch the flesh melt from their bodies

(light the wick).

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i do, at least, staring until my eyes are fed (not my stomach)

grandfather always told me to respect the dead, honor those

no longer with us- i agree, i think. so i bathe in pools of self-loathing

maybe i’ll drown when i’m bony enough, i hope i blink ammonia

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but there is no real way of knowing// siphon off cloudless eyes

cleaving through the pupil with a scalpel. i see the shutters and shiver

in envy; oh, how i’d like to be a splintered window,

pieces of translucence tumbling down, blinded to a future i cannot see. guess what, it’s

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true- alice finds womanhood through the looking-glass

i only find distortion and toothbrushes, mascara wands

curling irons, pink razors, lash extensions

scrunchies and stickers and dollar store diamonds-

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but who would have known fury so great,

a figure so heavenly?

who would have thought hollowness so lovely,

femininity so yearning?

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(note: i'm really unsure about the ending and i'll probably change it, i just can't think of anything else to say haha)

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