xxLayla

Man in front of me, we've been going at the same pace for a while now, about a ten step space separates. You have such a swagger for a man of your considerable size. A swing in your step, hips sashay, feet indifferent to your formidable figure. You have sass to match your mass, Birkenstocks tapping the ground. Walking to your own beat, throwing back your sweatshirt hood.

see their lives in a flash of their eyes all of those forgotten memos piling up high put it in the shredder turn it into ticker tape and let it rain down on someone's parade it goes friday saturday mundane stuck in a circle basking in normalcy toneless monotony overrated originality irrelevant individuality exploit efficiency cut creativity

The birds woke me up. Ever since Cleo died, the birds had been a daily nuisance, more accurate than my alarm clock, waking me up as soon as the sun peeks it's glowing head over the concrete jungle. Before, the birds lived in perpetual fear of Cleo, of her lioness snarl and her tigress claws, of her cheetah agility and her cougar vision. They never bothered me when she was around. Unfortunately, the birds didn't fear my drained break-of-dawn groaning, they didn't flinch even when I took to throwing various objects my hands found themselves attached to as I stumbled from my bed. There's still a dent in the wall from a blender that was already

I lay in Union Square, barefoot, using my bag as a make-shift pillow. I could feel the toxic UV rays of the sun penetrating my browning dermis at a constant rate, and my limbs were beginning to shine with moisture. I looked passed the end of my overlapping feet to see an anorexic woman. This was not a woman on the cusp of the disorder, one who could get away with claiming a hyper active metabolism, one who had only starved for a couple weeks or months. This woman clearly embodied the worst effects of the disorder, with physical symptoms that would assure even the most steadfast skeptic that anorexia is as much a disease as cancer or pneumonia

And I feel like a doll So play with me But not too rough I'm held together with thread I see it all happen Through my plastic eyes But I can't say a thing My mouth is sewn tight I'm hugged and squeezed and thrown I'm not as soft as they thought Bruises don't show But the fabric still tears Sewing me Stitches sting Take a swing I'm not crying No one says You can't hit her And my smile's stuck So I'm not bitter The strings have snapped I'm in the trash But I know I can't say I wouldn't go back