a porcelain-faced softbody clown lies facedown

My insides are glitter gel nail polish and I'm rotting from the inside out. If you crawled down my throat, it would smell like chemicals and toxic purple. I crave stability. I feel soft and wet and like the stupidest person alive. Like a worm, you could stick a pin right through me and imagine how my thoughts are shaped and then wait for me to dry out and stiffen.

What's happening right now? Fascism. People smiling straight ahead with glazed-donut faces and pull-apart limbs. I do my brittle shuffle every day and apply to jobs until my fingertips hurt from grinding them across my computer trackpad. People ask me how I'm doing and I just say "doing" or "going"; I am as fine as everyone else.

I am going to a pink party on Friday, for which I have been asked repeatedly to dress really slutty. Perhaps I will do glittery clown makeup and pass out my clothing like slices of a Terry's Chocolate Orange.

There will also be karaoke. Here are my top potential song choices: