Calling her frenemy on a blue telephone, Beauty shellacs her nails with diamonds. Envy is smoking herbs in her palace, blinded by the bling of corporeal existence. She laughs at all of Beauty’s jokes, and then sticks pins in her secret effigy of her. Beauty is anaesthetized by her delusions of modesty, and she doesn ‘t feel the tiny bit of life drain out of her. Beauty and Envy hold hands when they play, skipping and singing saphically through the corridors of life. I am in the old red Dodge, my headlights going feral, driving to the point of no return. When I get there, I discover an old gas station playing Orgy and a closed book store with a neon, glowing open sign. My obituary was hot pink.
Miniature Moon 