this body purged itself into a mausoleum
where only the dead lie. watering the dead
roses only seems to work when you are
holding the umbrella to keep the acid rain
from beating down on me with closed fists.
and yet i still count down to a date that
does not exist when i'm going to see your
face again. my fears taught me how to
hold back from biting & launching myself
into your arms. those arms are not my
safe haven (yet). i have yet to trust those
hands who let me slip through the cracks
of her fingers like syrup or motor oil.

- kra