Everything is imperfect-
The space
Between your eyes.
The crooked white
Inside your half-smile.
The paper-cutting
Scissor bangs
That frame your face.
You chopped them late
In a dim-lit bathroom.
Flickering neon against the blade.
Tucking tongue under breath,
Chunks of midnight strands
Refracting grey-silver dreams
Fell to the floor like splinters
Hurled from breaking wood.
With crescent moons
Formed on each cheek,
The mirror smiled.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 9:12 PM UTC
Everything is imperfect-
The space
Between your eyes.
The crooked white
Inside your half-smile.
The paper-cutting
Scissor bangs
That frame your face.
You chopped them late
In a dim-lit bathroom.
Flickering neon against the blade.
Tucking tongue under breath,
Chunks of midnight strands
Refracting grey-silver dreams
Fell to the floor like splinters
Hurled from breaking wood.
With crescent moons
Formed on each cheek,
The mirror smiled.
