I'm fading, aren't I? This is what it feels like to be forgotten.

She moves in a disguised dance with the taste of clean--which is no taste at all--on her tongue. Improvised conversations and gestures leave her body in swift rushes while she feels her heart beating twice the speed of a hummingbird's wings. Her mouth empties itself in wafts of smoke and breath. Her name is Ramsey, and she is only nineteen years old. She chants to herself, "breathe breathe breathe. in out in out." She has limbs pale as clouds on days of dry heat and lips painted the color of red clay earth shaped in a soft heart, with a small gap between the top and bottom lip in the very middle where her yellowed teeth tend to peak out. Those teeth are straight, but discolored by excessive contact with tobacco.


BLAH BLAH BLAH SAME OLD SHIT.