January 22nd, 2009

I pulled out the dresses
from two new boxes,
hurrying down the stairs.

They sit in front of their matching vanities,
two tables made of cotton candy vomit
with intestinal weaving trims.
The lights shone down on them,
the white powder hiding
the scarred, red skin,
the headstones from years of those
little pus-filled bumps
making themselves home in early adolescence.

I pulled the dresses on them,
tightening them with all the strength I had
hoping maybe one day,
if I pull hard enough,
they’d implode on themselves.