There’s a picture of you that used to be on my mirror.
It always fell off of my mirror about once or twice a month.
You were once my second mother.
Yet, I question if this was a sign of a second chance.
A reminder to not be how you were.

It never takes much
I wonder what I could possibly do to impress her
She's plucking gold threads in the air
Bits of string she finds hanging all around her
When she's flying like that
When she's hanging like that
Even her feet trace above my head

When she's human
I feel sick
Because I feel lucky

You know those wraps on her wrists
She keeps them bound up for a reason
She needs the memory, but it's not for me

She's not like me
So distinctive, in all the ways she knows
In all the lines she's memorized
And in that saccharine emulsion
Still seeping from her
I hate the taste of it

Gently floating on the breeze
Walking across lilies
I wonder what I could possibly do
To impress her.