Dead Girl Summer

This summer

This summer I want someone to put cocaine up my butt, anally inserted alcohol tampons, this summer I want golden showers and poppers, this summer I want ejaculate and sand in my cunt simultaneously — I want him to fuck me in the garden — this summer I want buccal fat removal, I love looking like I’ve been in the gulag for two months.

This summer I want cadaver tits, I truly hope dead girl was pretty, I don’t want ugliness in my body. This summer I want a Vietnamese woman’s braid sewn into mine, they took it without asking, thank you for your free labour.

This summer put me on the casting couch, I want my thighs to stick to the black faux leather. This summer I want to remove my ribs and look like a poor third world child, I will post about it on World Hunger Day. This summer I want my labia stitched into a butterfly by a doctor in Seoul who calls it “origami pussy.”

This summer the boys who pretend to be nice will drop GHB in her drink and carry her somewhere quiet. This summer I want chemsex with you. Inject me with heroin before I come, then do it again.

This summer I want to do ayahuasca and shoot the shaman after. This summer I want an orgy, double penetration, then complain about men. This summer I want to suck dick through a glory hole — what? Je suis French after all. This summer I want men to throw drugs and money at me like I’m a stripper, I’m just a pretty girl after all.

This summer I want to be the gift at a Saudi prince’s bachelor party, they will draw lots for me. This summer the Slavic girl on the yacht thinks the producer will help her career, the producer’s hand is already on her thigh, is this champagne prosecco?

This summer a poor woman will come to Ibiza with her rich friend, the rich friend will desert her. Good. She did not deserve to breathe the same air as I do in the first place. I want him to tell me he loves me under a clear sky.

This summer I want to drown in a pool in a k-hole. This summer a girl’s nose is gonna collapse from all the snorting, you can put a finger through the hole where her septum was, it won’t be me — I’m a pretty girl. This summer I want my nervous system to rape me over and over again.

This summer I want to die of a cocaine overdose, then do it again, que puis-je dire, it’s summer. This summer a girl falls down the stairs, the boys are rolling her up in the rug — wait, not that one, that one is an heirloom, use the cheap one, she was pretty, so sad.

This summer someone will drown at the lake, I cannot help, I am drinking a margarita. This summer I will mangle a man under my speedboat, c’est pas ma faute officer, it’s summer. This summer a man will get impaled by a fence falling drunk from a balcony — what a joke, learn to hold your liquor, will you!

This summer a girl is turning grey in the sun, she overdosed on fentanyl-laced Xanax pills. Party pooper!

I want to listen to Bauhaus with you naked. Gamine stupide. I want to cut his name into my skin, he likes scars, I become his dream character. This summer I want to brutally torture you until you die, then resurrect you.

I want frivolity with him. I want him to love me so much he hates me.

This summer I want after parties with no ending, this summer I want to kill myself beautifully, my liver melting to syrup, excusez-moi — I forgive everything beautiful.

This summer I want to go into more g-holes than humanly possible and survive it. I deserve to live. Je suis the party girl after all.

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—Love, Klara