I felt you staring, took it to mean something about you caring

but nothing compares to the hollow look you parried on me

the evening of my first show—bearing child, soft, nurtured, free.

maybe if I look out this window long enough i’ll disappear into the streets

i’ll be lost, i’ll be away, i’ll be me. 

Mitski said something about working for the knife, but the knife works me.

Twisted in my sides, holding me up, marrienette shivering without consent.