on slow motion nights
I picture
y(our) blue room
and
it's mirrored walls
of a reflection I once truly knew
it's this lump in my throat--that chokes me
swallowing a truth I can barely
force down
it's this silly running eyeliner
that your fingers don't wipe from my cheeks
it's the muscles in my face
that no longer form the smile that I used to smile when you used to make the muscles in my face
form a smile
it's the y's and the where's
the tears and tears
it's this silly string
caught in my drain of insecurity
--it's letters I won't be strong enough to re-read for years
it's a riddle with no answer
hey--
tears still roll
even over the scariest of masks
it's knowing
there will never be another
ib.
