losing at chess. black velvet dresses and shattering into a million pieces. girls made of porcelin being held up by strong boyish shoulderblades. i wish i was a model, slim cream and bowed hips. versace gucci hermes all the beauty and glamour and self-abuse. i wish i could still slit my wrists, it made me so much more deep. "i just wrote something" -- she always wished she could be different, that she could create something beautiful and it would stay with everyone and echo inside their heads and they would remember it but then she thinks of the models on the catwalk and the published novels and the beautiful paintings and she cries herself to sleep every night. don't you hate it when you're too lucid to think?< >< >< >< >< >< >< >< >please think.

next.