Like a stab would just as far up the earth as it is deep and tongue like orange peel juice in the kitchen dresser drawer. Don't beg me please. Like melting planets with rings poking out of my head. And spiders spread like anything you can make into jelly. They ache like a wall sit and my toes light like a drag match. I guess I was vague and you disregard. Push the frosting frustration to the tips of my piping bag fingers that shiver slightly always but steady in their destination. Don't force me to tolerate your friction on the end of a strawberry stuffed straw. It's low like your stomach drum, inside your chest in the shower, your neck in silence. It's high to almost hear like your eyes are a blanket, knees up the stairs, elbows on the wall. I run away into the arms of I never want so leave alone. Water but not from the sink outside's hose. Metal but not like off white vanilla candles with burned but blown out still stuck up your nose. They say you have wings so you can fly but they are just bent and dull butter knives. Eight o'clock dark until five o'clock bright everyone sleeps pretend. And me, when my curves cave in, I don't need it. Whistle the forest fog from your mouth to wrap around my upper arms and the tips of my ears. You're hungry and I'm starving for death but all I have is t-shirt and jeans but they're not leaving (my friends). Dog crawl out like puke and distraction. Triangle slice out my shoulder and take what you get. This should be the other way around. Red is the low throat hum sound of confusion. And lime but less frightening light green is the confirmation that you really don't know. Glow blue is a child's play laughter but a babies cry scream. Depends on what I say and no one knows who I mean. Yellow-white, soft sunset orange, and just pink rest in a rocking chair atop their cheeks. The waves of their smile are neon forest blue green. Doesn't mean we need anyone but me. You don't
