Gabby Windey

You see that running down my leg?

It's bright blood.

It's bright red this season of the moon cycle and I don't know why and you wouldn't know why either.

because you don't have a uterus, you don't know what it's like to walk around with a non-organic stuffed cotton reaching your cervix.

Anyways, we take heed and run past the sea of people trying to ruin my life with candid photos plastered all over the internet with my face covered by a rented Prada mohair purse.

Who do I think I am, Lindsay Lohan?

I wish.

And some of these tainted pictures, they manifest.

They manifest on none other than the ubiquitous website known as justjared.com.

And I know everyone's on this website.

I know everyone has this saved.

I see a picture of myself from Jared and wonder about my mother's proclivities while I was in the womb.

Is it fetal alcohol staring back at me through the phone screen?

I zoom.

Maybe it's something undiscovered.

Maybe it's a toxic mineral that we've never heard of and she took it while I was in the baby womb and it transitioned to me through my belly button and that long hose and it sucks the life out of my disconjugate gaze.

Another assault on my facial features comes as the inter-party photographer, the worst kind.

Here he comes with the camera and his suit.

Pose, and you better do it fast with the camera gunned to my head.

My limbs are lifeless.