Dot Dot Dash

Purple daisies in her hair like watercolor serpents. She giggled from the orgasm and cried at the circumstance. Scrambled eggs she thought must still be more whole than her. Bacon less dead.

She named each piece of toast pretending it could feel her eating it. Some were boys and some were girls. All of them were orphans.

Only sex could camouflage all that skin she was suffocating in. Only the touch of a stranger could prove it still belonged to her.

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