Sweater buttoning down the back, black flower crown, velvet
Laced boots—so filled of content.
Right to
To depart from to rot. In the plug opening so a a large amount of debris not living
It’s ritual potential.
My phone is a radio this morning, telling me
Whose hair still writhing.
Where do I buy an ethic.
I have this arsenal of ethanol, excellent selfie lighting
And stomped-in elegance; this arsenic of aspiration.
Pinterest boards of visions, mystic while malleable cutlery. Imitation
Is categorized while primitive magic
But I fair Googled
“Kim Kardashian place on clothes size,” the amount of sophisticated
Machine with every one other accompanied by pile production—machinating the myth
That poison is a woman’s art. The body accompanied by arsenic rejects:
Vomit, gore vomit, hair loss. It was beautiful,
The palette
Of rich greenish lushing the wall, the fondant layers of Victorian
Dresses dyed accompanied by arsenic. Died for the deep affection of it,
Misnomered
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