on wednesdays she looks translucent
her eyes
reflecting everything she sees
you have to
look twice to notice her
it’s on wednesdays
her bones turn brittle
her feet
sinking deep into the ground
she leaves
dust when she walks
on wednesdays
she counts down to midnight
coils up as
her hands turn ice blue
she closes
her eyes and sees snow
it’s on wednesdays
the mirrors are empty
and she
leaves no fingerprints behind
she’s
stopped touching what she can’t feel
on wednesdays
she’s acting out a half-life
just a ghost, waiting to be roused
after a day
of chasing shadows
thursdays
are the ones she breathes
and touches
until her skin is blistered
red, like
the blood pumping through her limbs
(thursdays
are the reminders
you’re
alive, they scream.
you’re
alive.)
No comments:
Post a Comment