| butterfly with cyanide eyes and a metal heart witness little girls in green drawing room dresses with broken crowns (and jester costumes with red ribbons) blowing bubbles that are so soon broken tip-toeing through the daisy fields while the world sings maybes, and days since she has ceased to turn and yes, i believe that marbles can be bathbeads if they learn how to dream little girls in lamenated picture books suffering black dresses and dirty looks waiting for the sky to unfold and blanket them and they expect the world to watch them suffocate in bad relationships and grains of salt when she tries to dance like sun rays the clouds wrap them selves around her (much like glue-soaked cotton) when she tries to sing like the raindrops the earth blazes with dry white heat and when she tried to bloom back into love all her petals were torn away some enchanted hand murmuring "loves me, love me not" who never knew her (maybe never even meant to hurt her) and her little silver locket is the best story teller you'll ever meet and her little gold heart is the best secret keeper that you'll never see -0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 |
| can't do anything but sit leaning against the door, and cry and scream "i hate you"s and wonder why aching all over, in her mind in her stomach, in her heart reading old I.O.U.s that were sealed with memories and the scent of vanilla and cheese pizza surrounded by the historic dust of dark basements and now she's playing basketball with used kleenex and a garbage bin and crying into the sand that watched her grow up and could bury the world and carry the world dark and doleful eyes brought to life in her misery so she swallows and chokes down her grief goes to the window and closes her eyes the grey clouds fade back into mystery and the sun graces her heart with hands that never meant to hurt her she breathes again as she waits for tomorrow |