she was born with arctic lips and overcast skin. her hair fell like fresh snow and she was far too thin. her bones in locked closets, joints creaked and shrieked like a rotten floorboard under gossamer feet.
put me under, cover my face, stuff my lungs with your chemical lies.
if they were to take me apart, slice open my chest, peel back the skin keeping me whole, they would find:
a. one heart, slowly ticking. (they would not find anything, but they would have to say they did. after all, girls can't live without a heart. they forget that i'm not the first: a score of girls walking even though they should have faded long ago.)
b. each rib curved so perfectly, a shield around my lungs. (a cage, keeping my breath from bursting out of my skin. know that this is just me, held together by nature, unable to lose control of myself.)
c. two sacs of cells, nestled beside each other. (no first-hand smoke here, no sir. only second-hand dust, only things i could not get rid of, only bits of places i've been, caught in my body. postcards of memories i can't see.)
d. a skeleton, still and alive. (sleeping, with blood cells being produced in the hollows of my curves. the rattling of my bones cannot be heard, but if it could, my skeleton would tell you all my secrets. it would beg you, please don't leave me. i never fought the monsters under my bed, i just turned them into the skeletons in my closet, the skeletons i wear inside of my body.)
the sun is born of ink that leaks from dog-eared galaxies
and the night is made of copper eyes that pipe the constellations but we are too polite to stare. any hand that may brush my back must bleed the alphabet from wearied fingertips, and this is why: happiness is ice and crinkled bones all wrapped up warm in the childless rings of saturn and your smiling face-of-a-cliff that scorches pretty spring skin dry.
Your oily prints upon my eyes Blessed art thou You bleed through the cracks in my walls Eyes, pores in every centimeter of wallpaper Watching me sleep, watching my night-mare The horse running from the fire-like river Pouring down the mountain to the plains below Engulfing my atmosphere in golden red smoke I am not addicted
if i could fall in love with you, i'd yank the blue sky from its perch and wrap it around your shoulders like grandma's woollen blanket;
i'd extract the spirit from between your toes and douse your eyes in it, so maybe then i'd understand what makes your thoughts turn 'round;
and i'd write the words of a love-bitten victim on the insides of your wrists, just to make sure i won't find scratches there in the morning.
if i could fall in love with you, i'd glue your sentences on the walls, and tell everyone the paint was peeling anyway; and i like falling asleep to the scent of your ink-spelt feelings;
and i'd give away the coffee that keeps me upright every day, if only to rub the nightmares from underneath your ragged fingernails;
and maybe i'd even name a skin-deep butterfly after you because my superstitious nature would still my fingers; and you'd have claim of my scars.
if i could fall in love with you, i would not speak your name anymore because it would taste too sweet meant only to be breathed on your neck with your fingerprints on my waist and a caution ground between my teeth.