If the mask of plain oblivion doesn’t kill me maybe the old habits will. 
Trichotillomania, revived
evidence scattered on an ink-smudged exam paper.  

If vomiting gets rid of the poison than sign me up!
My answer to one million “How are you, really?”s.
Evacuating my innards on their shoes.

Leaning against the glass,
spilling arteries into my strawberry pancakes. 
for one day, and one day only.  

This is damn good mascara. 
From veins that refuse to bleed ink
I don’t know how to live without you.

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