My reflection told me that she’d pray for me,
arms crossed and lips in a pout.
I used to hate her.
Now I just feel worn out,
a sputtering candle,
forgoing oxygen for something else.
I’m drifting now.
This is a strange ocean,
filling up the corners of my mind.
There’s nothing worse than wet insulation.
I tried do-it-yourself,
with a hairdryer and some glue.
But there’s no fixing
awash in a mess of blue.
I’ve been staring at you for so long,
you seem to have lost your legs.
I want you to walk away,
because I’m me and you’re you.
You know yourself too well to end up with someone like me,
who knows nothing.
I don’t know myself.
Or maybe I do.
Perhaps that’s why I can’t bring myself to speak,
when you enter a room.
I torture myself,
it’s just something I do.
I’ve disappointed you.
I saw her the other day.
Her French lips and Italian eyes.
She was just sitting there,
and I was walking by.
I wanted to see her thorns, her secrets.
But she was so red.
And I was so hollow.
I saw her again.
Her dark, very German hair and articulate, old English eyes.
She walked right by me.
Secretive and gorgeous,
I wanted to hear her voice, her thoughts.
But she was so other.
And I felt so normal.