rock star

she twinkled while she sat at my kitchen table, reached, spasmed for a piece of bread with butter still cold and lumpy. tore at it with her stained teeth, letting little bits soak against the inside of her cheek before swallowing hard. her arms were bruised, scarred. her hair was greasy, she had dark circles under her eyes, stains on her shirt, small red sores around her mouth. there are echos of that healthy beauty, i can hear them when she talks about music. says the needle exchange isn't far, she'll stop by more. vancouver was nice, but too easy. she is a rockstar. inevitably, irreparably, a rock star.