I love the way
you talk to me
it makes me feel loved

but they hate it
and so they tell me it's false
and I believe them

I hate the way
I talk myself out
of love

It drips from my eyes and spills into the fire;
Ink
I stare past it to the world that was once breathing,
to the people who greeted it in the morning
My bare foot slides in the dirt, drawing a circle, then stops
The other mimics it
I hold my hands out before me, they bare the offering
The ink begins to stain my skin
It's poring out.
My fingers are melting, and they release it
it falls
for eternity
into the flame