allocate.

they're nothing but barren faces.
broken paint on canvas boards.
and i can't stand the smell.
he said i shouldn't breathe too much.
we all thought the future was pellucid,
but the pungent smell of perfume and carrion
happened to disprove our insurance claims.

i'm tired, i said. i'm always tired. or maybe i was never awake.

i wish i was a carousel.
i'd chase my tail with a purpose.
i'd make mother proud.
but all that's left are hypochondriacs and ashen faces.
i couldn't recognize the ribcages anymore.
we said our prayers to the teasing of chlorine gas.
even when my sisters died, from gangrene and relocated veins,
i've always looked for some consolation.
so far, all i've found was snow.
blank,
numb,
snow.