I overindulge and shovel globs of fluffy, velvety ice cream into my small, round mouth, glossed with streaks of oil and vinegar.
My tongue paralyzes after the mortifying aftertaste of highly saturated fat and sugar. Every bone in my body stretches and cracks before joining together to play the failure's violin.
Beads of sweat contour my forehead and burst into rivers, running down my face. The elastic skin around my eyes reaches around and pinches every corner when I can't bare to look into the bowl.
These two polished fingers could be anywhere else buried under pillows but they were gouging my heart out through the tube of my sore throat, digging for bones and dead things like a rabid dog.
My stomach tenses and the waves twist and melt at the sides like the mutilated top of a cone.
My brain whispers similes. The apples of my cheeks are blush pink because the blood rushes to my head when I think about my reflection.
I lace my wrists with compliments like a splash of perfume and I wear it all day. I take every look my way from a stranger and I tie it around my finger into a tightly wrapped satin ribbon.
Grandiosity! Dressing my tears into long organza gowns and sheathing my dejection with candy apple syrup that coats my frowning lips.
I drape vanity around my neck to masquerade the scabs of jealousy and inferiority.
Deep jade gemstones hang from my earlobes and mumble something cold into my ear about how I decorate myself with conceit.
I pick people who hold me to such high expectations and I let them down in the quietest way.
I feel a new layer of skin bubbling under my own and I peel the layer back to reveal a permanent blanket of narcissism.