Her fingers trailing my skin Feels like nerve endings torn open in a surgery of lies. Of: you are mine Of: I am yours Her lips speak of death and destruction, But all I hear is the cacophony of her vowels And the delicacy of her consonants. She’s bad for you, people say, And I ignore their words Because I live in a world where violence is love, And love is softness, And softness is death, And death is obsolete. So with smiles and nods of assurance I tell them I’m fine. Fine like: a sharpened pencil scratching out song lyrics on a school desk Fine like: the edges of teeth snagging on flesh Fine like: I’m drowning but it’s okay, she breathes for me Fine like: I can’t save myself, not this time Fine like Fine like Fine like My world is a kaleidoscope and she’s the one turning, constantly turning Everything upside down And me inside out. About Chiara SullivanChiara Sullivan is a voracious reader who spends far too much time wandering the well worn paths of her imagination. At any given time you can find her blogging here or here, tweeting, and instagramming. Her work has been previously published on The Regal Fox.
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