here we are shaking
here we are

a slit to make your jawline,
i dig my fingers through
and find the blood dripping
down my hand to turn
my skin pink. the evening
i left you, the classroom
was cold and you said

at home my reflection is rainbow
spiked and glass sharded in the
bus windows. at home my hands
shake when i pass our streets.
at home i think of the way you'd
look dead and wish it'd happen
soon. your ink skin against paper
thin sheets is what i need.

here i am shaking
here i am