Do you?
Now that,
is something,
I wonder.
It’s surely so,
that I know,
of it all,
truth be,
not told.
There are moments,
that it keeps,
me up,
unable to,
sleep.
I toss,
I turn,
I twirl,
and this tattered,
torn blanket,
gets more rips,
as I spin,
myself,
to dreams.

Butterflies,
have knives,
and they’re,
cutting up,
my insides.
Just like,
the words,
stuck in,
my throat,
it’s just another,
line I’ve used,
before.
I never promised,
to be perfect,
but my pants,
are singed,
and my shoes,
filled,
to the,
brim.
It’s a bit,
unhinged,
like the corners,
of a page,
in your favorite book,
it’s not broken,
but it can’t,
be fixed.
It’s something,
cheap,
borrowed,
used,
and the wrong shade,
of blue.

I had,
a dream,
last night.
I finally got,
to see,
You.
After all this time,
You asked,
“It’s me,
don’t you,
remember?”.
And no,
I did not,
remember,
You.

I kinda sorta,
ran,
when I wasn’t,
supposed to.
It was raining,
and the sky,
was blue.
But I ran,
until I couldn’t,
and then I skipped,
into the depths,
of redemption.
I twirled,
and danced,
with not a thing,
to hold onto.
After that,
I walked,
and then,
I simply,
fell.

I forgot,
if last night,
was actually tomorrow.
And whether or not,
if I’m dreaming,
or living,
a nightmare,
instead.
This is something,
I’d much rather,
**** it up,
and be a big girl.
But I’m crying,
in the corner,
like a baby,
instead.
I’m supposed,
to choke it down,
without tasting,
the poison.
But I’m,
throwing up,
while I gag,
and wishing,
it was someone else,
instead.
That isn’t fair,
but I guess,
I’ve become,
someone not me.
The cracked reflection,
of the broken mirror,
I stepped on,
while twirling,
instead.

It was,
so much,
easier,
to tell you,
that you simply,
had the wrong number.
Than it would have,
been to say,
that it was,
still me.