I fight with my hands
so they do not begin
to trace deep rivers on my stomach
that always lead to my hipbone basin

I flex my palms
and admire how my knuckles protrude
when I relax them again

My cheek bones can be felt
with a light pressure
and everlasting insecurity
but my chin never thins
quite the way I want

I pull my hair elastic forward
so that it sits right before
my perfect wrists

I admire my knees
as I sit in a tight skirt,
eyes trailing upward,
smile getting smaller,
thighs getting bigger

I tell myself I am better
and then I am alone

ack then I  used to believe in forever.
Call me naive but when we together
time no longer had any meaning.
The world was ours for the taking.

We built a shack and called it home.
There was room for the two of us
and that was all we ever needed
our own private forever.

Back then I used to believe in love.
When our lips met I mistaken the rockets
for fireworks but, this was no longer Children's play.
This was not the story we were promised.

Sometimes between the sheets I forgot about the war.
I forgot about those who were dying.
Pretending that these walls were a sanctuary.
Pretending that we, young and alive could not bleed.

But one can only make believe for so long.
These walls were built from wood
and our skin was not armour
and that was not a shooting star.

Back then I use to believe in forever.
Fire does not share my belief.
Flame does not know mercy.
And now all I believe in is ash.

Twilight's melody rises
mournfully dressed in lilac hues 
she grieves for the glory of the primrose sun.

The rise and fall of waltzing starlings
mirror the final breaths of the day
as with glorious mirth they beckon to the silvered chill of the moon.