hysterical nymphoid

we’re laughing and giggling

playing with knives

you cut me too deep

i go quiet

crying on my shoulder

about how you’re sorry

you don’t want to lose me

I possess an ethereal quality

that is taken for granted

shameful, contrite, apprehensive

doe eyes and a slack jaw wont do much for me

words of detachment

make my body flash

red hot

you’re a reptile

and I am burning from the light of the sun

exiting my spiral of paralysis

jaded by pleading words

with infantile revelations

I sigh

and say

“It’s alright”

I stroke your glassy hair

pawing petal soft skin

i can only muster three tears

i told you I cried an ocean yesterday

your guilt fades in impermanence

I still have to live in my skin

i am a cursed object

stalked by an unknown voyeur

I could say so much about you

but I don’t

I never will

I know where you’re bleeding from

I have no need to search

tomorrow I’ll wear my lowest jean

I wear my wounds like a prize

can you say the same?

I have the high ground in this knife fight

you go low, and I can always go lower

the green leather binding matched my sweater

it was meant to be

the first verse speaks of the moon

in a way that feels like home

a way that looks like me

vast, unlimited, metaphysical analogues

transferred on sweet rotting arbor

spoken, in a whisper, by a former twin personality

on page three hundred

and thirty three

i see myself, vulgar, indecent

as a witch

waiting in the wings

matted hair, insolvency, all common practice for a wild juvenile

I do not question the ethics of kidnapping

she has much to show me

and great artists steal

improvement is inevitable