The Application

I take out the application. It is smooth and blank around the edges Where there is no writing. Except. Some wrinkles near the bottom from being held. It is my sister, bugs, or shots for rabies. Vaccination obsesses me, with quiet hands put out to stop. Girth. These are our heads. Black and hideous, sweating and medieval. I am no baker. I am no artist, i am hideous. I am not hard, not cruel, just traumitized from shock and fire. Don't slip me into this or sign me up for this, don't lop my head off for sweet meat. It's true, i am no baker but a theif. Stalagmites. Cover me with varnish. Agonize. Agonize. There is nothing, no getting out of this. I am no artist, only hideous, hideous, hideous.