illusions of handholding

I get up

every mourning

to breaths of fresh air,

ran with my dog

in bottine avec talon

neighbours envious of

tight jeans and spunk

and no matter how many times

I leave, i always come back

to handwritten love notes.

Come back to

his grip,

he knows how to woo me

how to kill me with words

when he holds me

I close my eyes

remember the first time

our eyes and souls met

our bodies never lying.

Yet he disappears

when my voice carries 

rain

he pretends i’m like the others

when my pain carries

splashes of colour

he never knew could mix together.

he knows it all

thinks i’m easy to manipulate

into sewn fabric

but i rip too easily

shrink when touched

melt in your mouth

and i can’t hold on

for much longer.

you’re stronger

faster

wiser

and thus

i’m weaker

under the lies

 i do not trust

the truth.

It shifts

into reality.

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