you can swallow a pint of blood before you throw up

cold, hardened shrimp
for dinner
pealing away the shell and the legs
as the screen flashes
eyes glass over
so easily they break in my fingers
one by one, the juice
falling onto my red lips
drip drip till i'm finished
a pile of broken exoskeletons

i see my fridge full of
condiments,
my closet filled with
close knit cotton,
polyester, and
silk embroidered jeans
that i think i own
but that actually
own me

now i spend my time
browsing online
looking for the
scented candle
that best describes
my
personality
it takes up all my time

and my fingers still
smell like the
broken
bodies, miniature in their
composure compared
to me
i'll have to wash myself
off before i've
shaken free the
rotting seaweed smell, fishy
to the core
using my oil free
epidermis scrub ($20),
of course