nice smile.

unmonitored fidgeting.
nervous laughter.
seems to force her way through small
talk and presents as
calm but quite patently
about some previous existential
crisis that she says
left her marked.
POXED, she
calls it.

she doesn’t show me her skin and
is currently being touched and
does not like to be touched without
|she is currently being undressed.
she is currently turning from ice
to flood to
|to steady stream of
cold, red blood
and asked me to sing this
last part out loud.

“how guys save me in their phone #1”

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