The weapon you have,
symmetrical, is your face
a conversation passport,
a neon sign,
"Do not begin your speech,
go away, leave me alone"
But the last thing you want,
and quite frankly,
the last thing you need
is to be by yourself,
where your mind can help you
to slice your pulsing wrists
into a hundred pieces,
and suddenly,
you're a bleeding mosaic,
but at least you look
happy and beautiful.
You puke smiles,
and they light up your face,
but if somebody were to stop you,
take you aside and say,
"I know you're not okay" ,
would you beg for a piece of space,
or would you let them stay?
You puke smiles,
so no one sees your petals fall,
no crutches to hold you up,
so by yourself, you make them believe
you can manage standing tall.
