two point o

you look at me

and make up a new version of me

she will laugh more

and maybe will eat more regularly

and, of course, she will never ever die

you look at me

and tell yourself stories

half-truths and whispered rumours

you undress me with your eyes

and I start to look so healthy

I watch all of that

blue smoke fills my head

somewhere inside, something – what? – hurts

the new me fades away

and loses contours