<p><strong>Child-Lock Hunger in Laxative Bottles by Aly Bishop</strong></p>
<p>I draw smoke from stolen cigarettes<br />
Hunger tugs me backwards by the hair<br />
Until my neck angles ninety degrees<br />
Ladder bones clinking like porcelain coffee cups<br />
I cake my lungs in soot<br />
As polluted breaths dripping sand inhale<br />
Ripping my teeth with friction<br />
The air hiccups into my lungs as<br />
Urges for consumption<br />
Stop hitting like fireplace bellows<br />
Replaced by knotted, artery clogged euphoria.<br />
I can run on fumes longer than you think<br />
Exhaust pumping into my lungs until they cramp<br />
Pushed to the seams, the stitches stretch tight<br />
My chest expands as the rest of my body deflates.</p>
<p>I’m finally doing something right<br />
I crave the smog<br />
Not for the high of the heat<br />
But for the stocky soup feeling hunger holds.<br />
I’ve never done hard drugs but<br />
The enticement is similar and lists the benefits<br />
My insides wither and outsides crumple.<br />
The side effects are simple:<br />
Brittle nails crack in the beds<br />
Skin flakes from lips<br />
A crown of curls covers the pillowcase</p>
<p>It is an abuse of control<br />
Manifesting in a scarcity of swallows.</p>
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<p><em>Aly Bishop is a seventeen year old writer hailing from Los Angeles, CA. She works to represent and advocate for transgender individuals, those struggling with mental health issues, and victims of domestic abuse. She works to be easily accessible and can be found at her Instagram @alyvbishop and seen in other places such as the Poetry Society of America, the Faulkner Wisdom Competition, The Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and the zine Trash Mag.</em></p>
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