my hair smells like egg
thinking about them doesn’t get
me off anymore. Fuck. Obliterate.
All, the to-do lists. Heart pounding to love.
Ness. Wolf. Howl at night to hear self. Abandon
of children. A band of. Lovers. Circled round to set
me on fire, light, match. To prove. He calls all the time.
Check. To do. Her. Glass. Glass in my pelvis. I put it there
when I finish my wine. Shard. Ice. Ice. He told me to put ice on it.
She. Flew to the moon at four. She left a note but I forgot
now to read. She. Flew. I left, to stars.
– Ankita Sadarjoshi
Bios are hard! I enjoy loud angry music and thinking that I might save a small sliver of the world.