Ready...set...click!
The click of the bathroom door locking is my "go" signal.
A long, boney key with nails bitten to the cuticle finds it's way into a crooked, chapped lock. The gate keeper is the only one who knows, for he is the one who holds suppertime poisons in him. As if scheduled, the toxins come out on que with one good heave. The smell, and the thought of what jumped the fence (again) brings out another batch. To selfish to think of how she wants him to be, he can only think "hypocrite" as they are fighting the same battle, using different weapons. She doesnt know, but she's more up front about it than he is. Envy hurts almost as bad as the words said in school hallways and parties. She doesn't know what its like to envy everyone else, she's to selfish. But whatever. The red, watery zombie eyes, look back in that damn glass. The handles on the cupboard doors dig into his back, and he kind of likes it. The only thing making me heavier now is blood.
