soft curls brush against broken glass and sharpened tongues
there’s a rip in my hemline of rationale, but i
i refuse to acknowledge it.
chapped lips eraser marks frustration pooling in pores uncleansed
eighty eight minutes spent dissecting self-destruction
and all the ways a death can occur.
manic nights bleed crimson to panicked sunrises
seventy times seven ended years ago and it seems that
second chances are thoroughly exhausted.
what is life when a long day is greeted by a
dead body in the spare bedroom?
an endless mystery kept locked in shared genetics.
synonymous with vagabonds and inner city alleyways
a fire escape used as an exit from a depth so frenzied
, there is no explanation. nothing to
make sense of.
tantamount and paramount and utterly insecure
smudges of black frame a face that is entirely unsymmetrical
No comments:
Post a Comment