A trad time capsule botoxed into youth unmoving faces can’t show disapproval they can’t display pain as well plucked hairs can’t rise up to signal excitement or danger an ever-thinning body encouraged to inject itself into more thinness will never be able to take up space that is owed if you whittle to nothingness all the better distracted weakness can’t protest a body in a casket of beauty will never be able to speak up for itself they’ve already picked out the tombstone and it’ll be as pretty as you all that time in the mirror and you still can’t see they want you to look dead