red cars

The strings are cut, my nails are trimmedand every day my hair grows inch by inch.The red balloons drifted through theApril clouds, pulsed with the atmosphereand popped before an unfamiliar God couldpush them back down to Earth, to my arms.Each fire engine siren grabs my still protruding belly,screams into my ears like I screamedon the bathroom floor as the tilebloomed scarlet beneath me. I run.To feed the demons, to shush them andto obliterate the remaining fat thatgrew with the early springtime bud.One more mile. One more sprint.One more inch to pull myself throughuntil my heart stops breaking.

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