water drips through tiny bristles, charcoal and mint lay on their prickly bed
white town homes of bones are awaiting cleaning, black paste washes the surface and the cracks
scrub the centerpiece of the whole community, your air will thank you later
rinse the bristles of black cleaner, until the next maintenance request
loving others comes so natural, yet i can’t seem to remember what love feels like
love has many definitions, most say love is a feeling on the inside
“love means no matter what, you have someone to count on,” yet i stand alone in the darkest times
“love is when something naturally starts to take up more space in your mind,” i must love a lot of things then
i know what love looks like, i give endless love and i haven’t realized until now
out of all the love i give away, self love has long been forgotten
your eyes tell a story only i can read
drops of sweat crawl down your face
the walls are slowly moving in to destroy this place
telling your version of events to track a lead
beginning with names and dates
details so morbid you can’t help but whine
the pieces of the puzzle finally start to align
when they’re caught, they will meet their fate
my bare feet on the frozen floor tiles misery, tired eyes and a forced smile
freckles hop, skip and jump between limbs fading hair that needs a trim
freely by my side, arms dangle and sway body language telling of my disarray
left boob has always been bigger scaling my torso thinking “today its a little thicker”
stretch marks flow across my butt and inner thigh they’re beautiful but i still ask why?
busted knees show no mercy legs are hairy and still keep me sturdy
soft pale skin kissed by tiny bruises from my body, anguish oozes
i can see that i’m drowning
Today I found a path going deep into the woods and through the naked trees, I spotted a tattered chest covered in rose vines. As I got closer, the air began to thicken. Through the spaces in the vines I could see the chest had engraved writing on the top that read “Les roses sont rouges, le ciel de minuit est noir, une touche de vigne et tu ne reviendras jamais.” I can’t read French but how bad could it be? I started gently maneuvering the rose vines careful not to mangle them but it was too late, my fate was sealed. My hands grew increasingly numb with every vine I touched. My entire body felt like television static by the last vine. The very moment the last vine was moved the top shot open and I was sucked in. That was the last I remember before waking up inside the tattered chest covered with rose vines, until the next wanderer comes along to take my place.
**French Translation: “roses are red, the midnight sky is black, one touch of a vine and you’ll never come back”
