sunlight breather, 
gills for success
high on cold moon ether
blue ribbons tie the best
Marked and made for slaughter
Picked and packed for dollhouse daughters
I have known captivity in my escape

living in fleshy detritus (if you'd call me alive)
Paralyzing empty flashing printer lights
terror tears would carry us (abandoned by our tribe)
beacons on a sea of fast food bags and cowardice

sometimes, my neck would get cold without the shackles on. 
it wouldn't fit anymore. I'm feeling myself blowing up and
filling out the clothes of a stranger, day by day
choosing things to ship off pieces of me
to buy porcelain pieces of mind 
the lie that they won't find me here
buried in paper bags and condom wrappers
insulated by shame
marinated in the stagnant waters
what it is to run in place