I’m sorry.
My kaleidoscope words can never penetrate the
perfectly fabricated
web of deceit,
that you have woven [ever . so . intricately]
…it envelopes me in dreams;
safe from the shame of my desperate dependency
(where love is absolute and unwavering,
where the only unanswered questions to p'u-zz.l|.e us are,
if it’s the *stars* or our goodnight kisses, that shine brightest in the dusk sky)
(your words thread patch work s-t-i-c-h-e-s, all over my heart
and I bleed .s.i.l.v.e.r. all over my bed sheets) -
How can you tear
the crumpled newspaper wings
from a butterflies back
one by one-
and call yourself mother nature??
and you left hundreds of shallow hypocrisies
just sitting there, on my bedside table,
the day you left,
burning a hole in my heart.
So I hid them away from my consciousness, under the bed.
~and now they’re all stained with silver~
(and they bother my subconscious when I wake,
My sub&conscious minds blur together,
so now I’m not quite sure where reality and [x]you[x] begin/end)
and my ship wrecked bones
break,
and my eyes,
hold back (.oh.so.beautiful.) toxin, crystal tears,
sparkling in the moonlight,
beneath the northern lights in your eyes
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