promises locked onto a small hand
became broken fingernails
that were sharp as the needles
that littered your bedroom floor.
you never told me secrets anymore.

pink lemonade was mixed with
other things. stronger than the bleach
you used to dye your hair. sickly summers
in your throat reminded me of palma violets.
i’d hate to know what went inside it.

the people you loved became
people you’d forgotten.
i like to think you loved me once.
but now i live in your memories
and our childhood shines faintly like dreams.