My scars tell a story
Of what my mouth can not...
I've scraped surfaces
of what needs to be...
Eyes gazing but not looking
Dimples holding a half stitched smile...
There were galaxies in her eyes because
When she hung herself from the old tree...
Empty little vessel
Sad twisted little thing...
Under a pile of grief,
anger sits without a voice...
Oh, Beautiful Stranger...
Standing outside the door...
"You can find anything beautiful
but not the one in the mirror."...
In August, the sky is pure
like writing freedom on a sheet...
I'm not sure if you know this but
seagulls have died here. Their corpses rest...
It's raining here,
it's raining acid and shrapnels...
I wasn't born to be a raven messenger,
land upon your shoulder, tossing dirty...