Harlequin

Is it edible?

flesh isn't real.
mom and dad are rag
dolls.
clumps of mould and cotton.
fifty-cent buttons sewn wonkily for eyes.
not sure if they can really see.
put together with clumsy weaves of
frayed wool. never did well with the cold
truth.

feels like i am the only one who feels
everything.
heart beats like it is the only thing beating
the heart-arresting escapist into a sour pulp.

friends more like sisters, more like strangers
their face melts, collapse
to the ground with every globule, every drip
plastic waterfall, i jump in and open my mouth wide
forgot to hold my breath.
swallow every gallon and corrode my intestines.

recycle, reuse, remember-me-not
keep telling the same lie until it becomes the truth
maybe we feel better once pathology becomes reality.
the greatest liars cannot discern between
plastic and hazelnut ice cream.