I came home

My hair turned brittle at the ends, my eyes lost their
black lines, my lips their almond crunch
of sugar. Melting along with the shapes penciled
onto my face, I spun, a little drunk
in the microwave, grew dizzy at its whirr, its beeping
and shrieking.
The rice was in a pool of peachy-orange water, I tore at the
stale bread with my teeth, my
feet hurt, my nails cracked off
with the cheap purple polish still on.

I tried to sleep with my phone, but it burnt
bruises into my back. The night peeled through and
through, and left me
in the shallows sheets of haunted morning.

You still hadn't called.


Natasha Japanwala

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