metallic

SARAH LUCILLE MARCHANT

 

 

she grew up between cracks in

the sidewalk—tied her hair up

with ribbons, tied herself into

knots—slipped and fell down the

stairs once and tried to make

something beautiful out of

her bone fragments

 

spiders strung their webs across

her bedroom window—colored lights

in her eyes—jewelry—lip gloss—

nothing real, fingers trace

glow dust into patterns; life was

all just a game to her

 

danced into her electrical outlets, she

spiked her blood and sipped wine and

blinked in even numbers—she did not

even have an identity anymore; everything

was the music, everything was

everything else

 

one day painted herself onto

the bedroom wall—stuck with glue—

living wallpaper—plastic dresses

and eyelashes smashed together—

never comes out—stays holding

her flimsy intestines in—and

sometimes forgets how to breathe