(i should have known this self-manufactured façade! )
when i had asked you politely to bang your wrists on the door of that bathroom stall (yes, that bathroom stall!) i had begun standing on my own fists. perhaps, i like keeping your name, stinging and static, in the pit of my stomach, to pick then peel apart and eat at my leisure. but each time i ingest, it grows not only in its size, but in the potency of its taste. if i could stop myself from picking, i would.