Dear mysterious little girl
Your bare feet on the periphery
Leave little black tracks that I can’t get clean
And the small smudges of blood
From your bitten down fingernails
Make all my mirrors messy
Your limbs remain thin and you manage
To slip between the bars of my rib cage
And track your darkness on my heart
We are not the same you and I
You should really run a brush through your hair
Take off your wet clothes
Why does your tongue always taste like silver?
Where did you get that bruise?
Little girl what do you even know about the world
Stop whispering your mysteries to me in my sleep
Your words are like sharp daggers that scrape across a well worn leather coat, they penetrate and leave evidence of being there, and yet allow the reader to live still; touched and scarred, richer and poorer.
ReplyDeleteThank you.