i am becoming what your silences and your words fail to say. semi-prose, dancing to comic relief background music, there are also things i will never say. i will fold into individual coils, pack myself in purple cellophane and sit on a shelf till some poor unfortunate soul picks me up to admire my manufactured beauty. my face contorts, my muscles pull themselves in pain, we listen to each other's melodies in different time zones. there is no way out of the messes we make, no matter how many escape routes you(yes, you) plan for yourself even before you walk in. if only the rubble and broken glass could keep nature from growing. with every new spring come a fresh wave of tears and remorse.
i want rainbows to sprout from our feet when we walk hand in hand through graveyards on rainy western winter days.