I’m dangling by a thread
swinging from the moon
and you hold a pair of scissors,
threatening and teasing me,
flecks of empathy held in your eyes.
That’s all they are – flecks
because your grey eyes are truly selfish
and your lashes are coated in dishonesty,
brushing and batting against your
honey skin.
So my mind plays hopscotch on your pavement
and I wonder about the false hope
and the emptiness
you have embedded into my stomach
and my fingers tremble as you snip, snip, snip