Drop Cake Dress

Her lipstick is like the smear 
of glittery dust

from a creamed silverfish.

She taps the jar,

spilling pills into the lid

which she swirls, listening

to them tick together.
Her eyelids drop, half-moon

black smears.

She takes nothing. Remains

hollowed out, with nothing 
rattling within her.

I curl my fingers around

the neck of the bottle,

flip the cap with my thumbnail.

She crumples to the carpet.

She stands in the dry bathtub, 
fingertip tracing a runner 
in her fondant stocking.
When she steps out
I towel her off and breathe 
sour milk into her hair.