She deals in expectations with soft, pale hands. Her currency weighs no more than cotton candy without the sweetness. Months pass under the guise of hard work, but she would rather change the world than alter herself. She drinks my casual critique in long, sloppy swallows. Invariably, she voids it shortly afterward from lung and liver. She hasn't a strong enough stomach for it. It doesn't sit well next to her privilege and coddling. She ignores my dispassionate stare and begs for more. Begs for validation without potency. Begs for truth without harshness.
10:00 p.m. - 2015-11-10
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