Tears and mascara make watercolors,
A charcoal coloured liquid maneuvering across my skin...
Illuminating all the cracked lines,
Seeping into my pores, into my being...
Blackening the rough edges within.
Its raining while the birds are still singing.
It always feels like November
In the Land of the dead and dreaming...
I am stuck on repeat.
This nightmare keeps on depleting my hope.
My heart is utterly broken.
Every word left unspoken becomes a poisoned arrow...
A dagger in my throat.
I'm sorry for being me.
I'd take it all back if I could.