i wear a candy bracelet & i gnaw at each segment. the sky dresses in pink & is made of thin paper. a tear forms right about the horizon but i ignore it because the hands on the clocks are insect antenae & the lawn has turned to sandy sugar so one other fracture doens't seem as threatening. white elastic peering between jems, the bracelet strains. i have nothing to tell you about the flavor of a diamond. i have put so much metal in my mouth. when i was hungry i used to ball up aluminum foil & chew. the bracelet crumbles chalky in my mouth. all diamonds eventually revert back to pale colorful sweetness. a boy bought me this bracelet & he was too tall for every single room he walked into. his fingers were thin as toothpicks but his eyes were full & glossy. he liked to lift me up into trees. he called me ornament & stood back to stare a me as i glistenned. if i eat the bracelets he won't find me again. each day they grow back. do you ever fear your teeth will fall out from all the sugar? i brush my teeth with my fingers--clawing at each surface. the world is an unclean place for anyone with a screen. in my bathtub, i lay in sugar & think of the choice between crumbling & dissolving. i would much rather crumble. it's more distinct. i want to find my pieces in the dust. to dissolve is to fade entirely. the boy taps his long fingers against the window to the bathroom. i tell him i am no one now, just an intricate origami. he sighes deeply & walks away. just because he is easily fooled doesn't make me less scared of him. i make a birthday cake with my heart & blow out all the candles several times hoping a wish might come true. i dream of water swallowing us all & dissolving each grain sugar. sugar melting between my toes. the paper sky wilting like a daffodil. sometimes bite my own wrist instead of the bracelet. it forms a second little bracelet of tiny bite marks. red ring. the bracelets eclipse each other. i pull the blinds shut & make up another excuse to the boy. i tell him i am a rose bush.