continue to be broken.

Every time I am

it gets

harder to build myself again.

Now, there are more

ruins

than

reconstruction.

Sometimes it rains.

Sometimes it pours.

Inferno

I feel the fire

In the pit of my belly -

Burning.

All seven circles of hell

Contained therein.

25 lines and

Not a single poem.

Only fragments.

Pieces

Of mind.

Each one a little

Syntax of madness.

Punctuated and pierced:

A comma, a semicolon,

An exclamation, an ellipses.

A breath.

Nothing feels like me.

Nothing feels like chains,

and

I want to feel like a home.

When it rains, it pours -

but

I need to wash this city

out of my clothes and hair.

…and the food has been poisoned.

“Not all that glitters is gold,”

but

your gleam had me fooled.

And I sold myself to you

you ebb and flow in and out of my mind.

the taste of your name

the

feel of its weight in

fashion trends