[046] scraps
02/01/2009 04:13 p.m.

the rungs of this bed feel like ribs rattlin' 'neath her own while she sleeps and she
counts them one-a-two and imagines herself spread across the heaving chest of a beached
blue whale all alone. she has a penchant for certain things, like animals and people
that are much muchly bigger than herself, like screaming without ever making any noise,
like having to apologize for wanting and not wanting, and for pressing her fingers into
peoples' rib grooves anyways.

I am currently Perfect