she holds a pair of shoes
untied in her crossed arms
making faces in shards of mirrors
she agrees:
it's impossible to reenact our loss
without the blood letting
scale wallls of successful men
cursed to death to live this life,
with childish goals:
i hope i get recognition;
i hope that i am the recorded message in yr head while
you sleep
i cover my eyes and secretly wish
for a hand full of pills
a hand clutching revolver
a noose dangling around my neck.
but fear of the happily ever after,
just keeps me from myself.
