a gunshot never heard painted her world in sepias and grey. the blood stained her skirt as her body fell between her bedspread and the floor and magazine spreads selling shame for being ugly in an uglier world. but those lives are all lies. all right: destroy yourself all in some fucking lost cause and burst at the seams trying to patch up your flaws. but you are not what they’re selling. carve away at your face and your legs, but i hope when you carve through the gloss on the page you see that you are not what they’re selling.