you find yourself as an unattractive beast whose lips drag along the dust picking up flecks of skin someone long since gone has left over scratches the legs of a chair make when it is suddenly pitched backwards beneath your spine. nothing has ever been more this figment of your imagination other than the utter words you used as wounds traced over your belly where you wish there were scars sealing the fat you cannot get to. and when your ears pierced widen to the sound of your unease, the hair choking your chest prickles stray yearnings like the night you coughed up more than what you meant to say.
regret and sorry are such useless twins.