a chandelier and a box of oreos wait for her in front of the sobbing room
And as she lifts her head to read the markings on the door from the previous night of mayhem and distrust she spits on her hands
she rubs off the red lipstick stains on the white walls and puts her flats to rest
laying flat now, she has no clue how
she managed to get to this place
how she managed to become
what she would never become
how she managed to wait weeks to feel full again
how she poured that disgustingly tasteless white power powder in her ice water every night
every morning
every glass
every second
that seemed to live and die disgracefully
unattainability she whispered
as she wandered off to sleep
a melted, sweaty, chocolate covered hand
and an alcohol swab
matches in the corner of the room
a bowl of frozen grapes
razors for the dead skin at her feet
a secret stash of documents with a million and one numbers and addresses and misguided letters
jumbled up
a drawer of things she’d begun to write and ended in her head
how would she say it
a billion and one ways to rephrase it
an inspiration outside of whatever was left inside beside a teaspoon of bile
for the next day
a teaspoon of gut and liver and heart and intestines
who were very insecure about their weighing her down
she lifted a pinky without knowing it
a pinky lifting a middle finger
then index
thumb
pointer
arm
torso
hips
right leg, left leg
head, hair
a little girl playing in a white tainted grey wisp of air
holding flowers and waiting for her cookies and chandelier
