There is an ugly nakedness about me today.
I don’t know what it is or its whereabouts.
The nature; once taking over my body
Now hindered by my spray, my longing ness to find
Myself this month.
I ventured outside and pondered my art
Barely and bare chested, desired the wind to hit and curve and slither around my soft edges.
Taking a look I saw shadows of my ribs,
But a shadow of which I couldn’t before.
Most windows do not speak to me like this one
Half was right
Half was wrong.
I wanted my life to end there and then.
To be pretty in death is to be immortalised in every wilted rose.