Do I smell
like I'm torn to molecules?

You're as fragile as
the color of quartz or
a porcelain doll or
a rare wildflower or
an ill newborn

I'm out of order
my voice is patheticly vomiting over itself
my own body feels like cutting of the corners
my eyes only focus on what isn't there
my brain is though, the most critical one
since it works okay

An oily lane of rainbows
A field of hunger and rage
I wonder what awaits