Julia Cirignano

I think of putting
The glass tip
Of the dropper
Into my mouth
Feeling it’s smooth
Round edges
And biting down
Until shards of glass
Cut little slivers
In my tongue
Then placing it
Back inside
The tincture

I think of putting
The pink tip
Of my matte lipstick
Into my mouth
Sucking it
And tasting the botanic
Chalky flavor
And then biting down
Into the smooth
Creamy stick
And chewing
The dry clay
Until my mouth
Is full
And pink slime
Oozes
From the edges
Of my mouth

Never truly satisfied
Like a constant itch
Almost straight lines
Almost neat piles

Little mistakes
And imperfections
Build under my skin
So I scratch
Until little pieces
Of my body
Flake away

Slowly but surely
I rip through the many
Layers of irritation
Because sometimes
It’s the little things
That eventually
Kill you

Lipstick containers lined up like black glossy bullets
Little black dresses meant to burn your eyes and steal your soul
The ticking of the clock and the beat of the music
Counts down the minutes until your death
Eye liner drawing out the rules and the game plan
Eye shadow hiding our secrets and romanticizing our pupils
Our heels make you gag and stare
Hallways and bright lights, cold air and warm breath
You taste vodka on my tongue like I’ve poisoned you
But I’ve only poisoned myself
Sweat drips down my smile as I dance
My hair tangles itself around my neck
You can see your victory as if we were already in your room
But we’re not and I’m gone and I’m not even sorry
I’m running and laughing and broken and I want to cry
But I keep running and laughing coughing on the cold air
My sweat freezes as it drips down the back of my neck
I am trapped but I am running
So I will pretend I am free