It’s like being drunk, my fingers running through the dollhouse knocking over everything
I don’t know what’s happening to me, the clumsiness, the heaviness of city infrastructure
weakening over time, potholes replacing my eyes, my mouth a bridge collapsing in the middle
my nose a public school rotting from the inside out, ears like playgrounds turned into drug zones
in the right light, see the obituaries tattooed all over my body different versions of myself
I’ve killed over the years, but nothing like this, body abandoning brain, brain bored with body
or my brain like a hot air balloon with a poked hole, magic leaking out, wind flaps bones
no control, fingers like tectonic plates giving the dollhouse the shakes, all the tiny mirrors break
but the tiny dancer is calm like a beach without any waves, with no monsters to make any graves
she’s in control, my fingers are poles, my fingers are toys, I’m now the animal, death to all boys
death to the old world, now my fingers are at a loss for words, the tiny dancer moves real slow
she takes my skeleton and pushes through, clothes like van Gogh, dress new Prussian blue
black cameo squawking like a crow, velvet bodice falling to the floor, hormones in a zoo
breaking down the bars, she’s naked now, my fingers are hers, so I imagine the stars
what they looked like when I was young, never imagined I would end up like this
“tringa_hysa”by altinukshini is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0
