i wonder why your mascara smudges and runs down your cheeks

one day,
we're going to bleed out

like stained red on kitchen tiles

and i hope the day i leave
your heart doesn't break

because i'm not even sure you have one
at this point

and i get it, i really do. 
but she has issues and i have issues
and we all have issues. 

it's like a twisted game of am-stram-gram 
and we're all it

so even though i know 
once we were beautiful, 

the circles under her eyes 
sink like gray craters,
and i'm surprised i don't match 
like sh-tty christmas cards

and so i just breathe 
and run the joints of my fingers raw
with bowstring abrasions

something in the back of my mind
says that pain is my way of coping, 
but i can't really process that right now

my hand is shaking, 
jolting fingertips and shuddering wrist
but i have no time for palms that can't rest

so i'll suck it up because i have to 
and breathe air whistling through my teeth 
as you moan and groan and grump

because i'm your goddamn sister, 
and i'm a helluva lot more mature than you. 

The End

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