After a fresh, deep, skin toughening sunburn
I spend the night shivering and vomiting,
Imagining that this is the onset of the illness;
the composition of death.
How would I look with no hair?
Should I shave my head now to test the fashion?
My personality is too morbid sometimes.
Always waiting for the end.
I’m so beautiful and young,
They say to me,
Apparently I’m desperately alive
Never seen such a classic beauty
Drown so fast,
Dry cement around her own feet,
Jumping off the boat.
Too pretty to die early,
Doesn’t exist.
Some of us run toward it.
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