cliffs look pretty when you're falling off them. wedding bells chime in my silver afternoon and do-gooders smile and nod at the idea of a new understatement. wound in a ball and sewed into pieces I walk the streets of my wayward childhood. smiling, lifting my fingers to the light to see if my veins are still there. I fumble around to find the doorknob and then I forget to open the door. I'm afraid of your feelings. loose nails are wobbling in the wall next to the bloody window. I like the way you keep silent, but I'm scared of your inconsistency. the clouds roll by in lazy patterns and I feel myself swim up to them. wondering is necessary and fearless and floods me with new emotions. I'm awake at night in my dreams when a figurine of your spirit floats past the mirror and the clock. is it you who makes me sad and happy at the same time? or is it my imagination and my lack of self control? crouching among the thorns is a photograph of your finger tips, they are lovely. you leave me so confused and so detached. and the paper clip that holds my feelings shut it beginning to corrode. and I'm so scared of what will sail out through the mouseholes in my confusion. I'm so scared of what they will make you feel, of what they will make you understand, and I'm scared of how much skin I will have to tear off of you when it's over.
--lily frame
