Nobody expects to be hung out to dry,
but that is usually where they end up.
Do you love me ,even when I'm like me?
The bare boned minimum?
Mineral head scraping the concealed complexion of my true skin?
The one that curves and bumps
once it is scrubbed with soap
with the rest of the dishes?
There is a difference
between a collision and a crackle of life.
I morphe my image,
piercing a pin into my lip until I taste pennies,
because it's trendy,
time consuming,
and it's the most I've felt all week.
When I form my eyes,
fluttered half shut into almonds,
the beaming cars sprawl vulnerably,
like a spot light
projecting an aurora borealis.
You've been this imaginary image of who I killed this whole time that I talk to.
Close to
murdering my mind to confide in new mistakes.
Money drains, my child, and you can pretend you're okay, but for yourself.
Not for me.
I see right through you.
A window is open,
just a creek.
-vivi
