I crawl into my skin,
letting my soul sink
behind a barricade of my bones,
folding my sleeve-worn heart
into origami cranes
that nest into my ribcage.
I blur my rough, rusted edges
until every pixel of my frame is softened,
blending with the floral wallpaper
where I lean like a forgotten daisy.
I turn my voice into a whisper
softer than weaponized silence
twice as deadly,
compartmentalizing my tears and smiles
into separate boxes and bottles.
You're not supposed to mix the lights
with the dark.
Only my eyes peek out from my armor,
checking the coast,
...it's never clear.
I can still taste the salt on my lips
from licking the old scars
that you pressed upon,
fingers dripping with melted butter,
ready for a feast.
My once soft shell
now hardened,
calcified with every lie I ever believed
about myself.