Her delicate appearance is contradictory. Her lack of manners morphs her mousey thin hair and thin frame into an acid trip. One eye is dilated slightly more than the other, her nose bulges and then drips off of her face, and her teeth project out of her mouth like calcified tentacles. It takes careful concentration to notice the tangles in the strands, the dim stains on the threads, and the dirt under the nails. That defiant disregard for careful. She’s sticky.  

They get pulled into her syrupy skin, like fruit flies on fermenting peaches. The tiny bugs getting drunk and stuck. They are her pets. Sinking in her aggression, hypnotized with her manipulations, devoting themselves to her body to survive the ungraceful sporadic bursts of movement. She loves her pets only temporarily, and she quickly falls ill of their cling and is desperate to shed them. She's itchy. Violently ripping them off of her arms and legs in a fit of madness. She doesn’t even leave them whole. Their homeless parts remain twitching in her gum. And she laughs that contagious, soulless laugh at the pathetic crawls, admiring the aesthetic of lewdness. And you find yourself in admiration too. Giggling in a drug induced vacuum for the warped.