this
sweet-eyed
breathtaking
catastrophe
of mine

hoarding
clutter to the
ceiling fan,
filling void
somewhat
while
trying to
understand

how involuntarily
she crumples
like paper
littered
on the sidewalk
of my brain,
riddled with
scribbles
and nonsense
words,
her ink
blotted
voice like
feathers
under pressure
being
pressed against
whatever

white knuckles
her neck
and
hot talk
from
cold chests.
ingenious
security

boarded up doors
and
one-way glass
windows
to
watch
from inside.

for a moment
she calls
out to me from the
woodwork.
she almost
reaches
for the lock,

she almost becomes more than just paper