Thursday, May 27, 2004

panic rose from my throat
like burning lava out of the crevices of the earth
and exploded from my eyes
at my seven dollar can of desire.
the knowledge,
or regret,
of spitting out my last eight
(seven plus tax)
at the one covered in ash
was enough to make me want
to burn alive.
*bettie* at 2:49 AM

bonsai trees broken,
fainting pudge where emily would've hated.
disgust is
an extra bump in your ponytail,
and not a speck of cottage cheese dried on the mirror,
or in your contacts.
*bettie* at 2:48 AM