fountain of youth – plasticbagger

September 30, 2026

we skim a love letter that’s lost meaning. we think not volunteering to die is pencil neck shit. we’re a bleachy stall, echoing the siren song of skinnylicious needles. we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we we. we wait for the first beads of sweat in a broken sauna. we think masturbation without oxytocin causes men to grow titties. we put six to eight dollops of serum onto pouted cheeks. we’re a pebble slipping through glass fingers. we pedal our cars and use a weighted steering wheel. we drift, crumpled posters for a pop star’s bratty era. we are the eucalyptus scent in a sleek office. we plan our exit before arriving. we watch a black and white sitcom about over-thinkers and laugh. we are paper plates and drinks out of a cooler. we tell each other we’re inspired by one another. we see romance measured in millimeters. we hear the flap of baggy sleeves while sword fighting. we get a pump to glimpse at tomorrow’s gains.

we promise to send each other postcards from across the city. we know the first chill of cream on an uncared limb. we refuse alcohol on days we lift, but it’s unhealthy not to get fucked up sometimes. we are one way windows up to the highest floor. we get asked for directions to the bathroom while selling crystals at a stall. we smile at wedding photos being taken. we go out and everything is made without seed oils. we stow bundles of vegetables into a bike basket. we are pom poms and undertakers at the fountain. we think there’s nothing hotter than being drowned in it. we are a barrel of bodies slingshotted into space. we are the local record for kisses on a cheek. we believe the power of cheetah print is feeling, not fantasy. we are sunflowers on a cloudy day. we are two card games on opposite ends of the city. we are freckles on a flat stomach. we are doric columns. we do imperfect somersaults. we’re another architect transitioning from designing buildings to making furniture. we’ve slid off a pile of first place trophies.

we get our daily steps pacing an unmoving submarine. we tap a clicker counter 10,000 times. we know we’ve been using our compliance bucks for a nefarious purpose. we call strangers our friends and we don’t call friends. we….we…. we don’t want to disturb each other on our journeys of self development. we chose to stand even when there’s seats. we are sparkly pants and an energy drink. we’re one of the most interesting playlists experienced in a yoga class. we wield the authority of a pair of scissors. we expect washers and curlers to know their place. we chew each bite 30 times before swallowing. we have 25 years of martial arts experience. we refuse to bounce our legs during city mandated no music hours. we smell bleach in unexpected places. we are a bottle of face cleanser that lasts 5 major life events. we are a clothing mannequin flexing rear delts to advertise a pair of shorts. we’re steak dinners separated by unread novels. we feel the forced tickle of wool before everything goes black. we lick raw honey to induce an insulin spike. we shred raw carrots to expel excess estrogen. we slam weights in a well mannered gym. we are flowers rolling downhill.

we do full stack pull downs, thinking this is gay compared to letting go. we do wall push ups in front of the toilet while struggling to pee. we have veins that are crossroads. we are the painting of fruit that hangs in every home. we put on sunscreen to look like ghosts. we wear sunglasses through halls lit by beeswax candles. we get tight hugs from compression tanks. we swirl, frayed strands of hair through the fountain’s chlorine geysers. we’re suspended in formaldehyde, a brain studied for its prowess in delayed gratification. we do crossfit in buildings that were once elementary schools. we adjust our posture based on the green line in the mirror. we wanna be cute and upbeat before meeting. we’re afraid it’s too late. we can’t make out with red light masks on. we start the day with a cup of warm water for digestion. we are sopping robes strewn about the hypno room. we are a pop star’s anonymous starvation zine. we must choose between making a friend and having a good workout. we’re the place that meant a lot but holds no memory. we experience myofascial release.

they don’t see us floating here. fingers laced around each other’s mush. faint marks on flesh mapping this expansion. they don’t feel the ocean try to pull us apart. two bodies trained not to flail in waves, but dive into them. for a few skipped breaths be among the snippy crabs and clingy jellyfish again. they don’t know what it’s like to hide underwater. they need us to re-emerge quick. they stand on the sand of an empty beach. their ball strayed all the way to where water clasps sky. the sun is bright. they’re scared to go in. it’d be dangerous for them to come this far. they wait for us to shed the waves. they laugh without cheering, knowing they can always count on us to get their ball back. they make us smile the way only they can. they don’t know how quickly they will grow out of innocence. for now they have us to raise their feet over broken shells.

WE rent our bodies and every day the bill is due. we suppress the stress of our mind before it deforms our face. we are crowds at the only movie that’ll play all summer. we swish coconut oil to draw invaders from our gums. we carry boxes of books all the way to their new home without breaks. we think breaks are pencil neck shit. we are porcelain angels behind a fragile display. we’re diamonds dangling off an ankle at the healthy thyroid parade. we run in a drenched single file. we want our soul to be fireworks. we want it fast, fast, fast. we are the last spritz of a vintage cologne, dissipating into a room closing for the foreseeable future. we need a new type of massage. we are the reflection of beauty in an alley puddle. we juggle fire. we conduct polls for our own amusement. we’re wilting gelato. we yearn for the regular missing from a workout. we know trying the same novelty twice too soon makes both times tacky. we are specks of salt dissolving into orange juice. we press stressed wool into a casual banquette. we get beaten by grape leaves. we go on sweatpants sushi dates. we’re scared we use kindness to appear trustworthy. we walk a walker’s daydream. we know nothing beats the sight of blood on a white sock.

we call rock bottom a salt cave. we notice nights coming sooner. we attend a nefarious gathering. we are deprived of a guest. we don’t know what happened to our idealistic friend. we save our fitness goals for when we can do them with joy instead of as punishment. we are a bodybuilder that understands the strength it takes to be empty handed. we’re learning to reset our neuro chemicals to release pain for good. we have 100,000 eyes. we like drownings since no blood is spilt. we use most of our compliance bucks on a gold grill. we’re a pop star who realized concern feels the same as love. we’re so deep into a walking streak we realize a streak is just a bunch of days. we have time pressed into stone shoulders. we see real elegance being effortless. we don’t know how old people are. we are a prescription for piercings from an alternative doctor. we are transparent stairs. we all have pencil neck moments. we are pressure. we are peace. we’re relieved we can conform to dance. we are the endless cut.

we are the most authentically crafted persona ever. we get it, bro. we are a stream of compliments. we are a threat bouncing off steamed tiles. we’ve read cancer and heart attacks were scary once. we are cable cars being pulled in shifts by hundreds of forearms. we are a spa with the doors locked and the lights dimmed. we know which handshakes are domination attempts. we are a bronze statue of a once iconic but now extinct species. we don’t worry our wool will be pulled over because we don’t have sex. we are fatigue at the finish line. we pour fresh blood in a quiet room. we keep our tongue pressed to the roof of our mouth. we are a pool that must stay empty because it is filled to the brim. we are still bells. we are every conversation happening this second and most of them could have gone better. we give away gua shas during times of grief. we don’t like being fawned over. we are tucked under UV umbrellas, nearing the end of a long dark chapter. we are our hair being braided by two hands we already want to feel again. 

the fountain flows.