naivete has always played a funny role
shifting from blessing to curse, for the better or for the worse
existing on her own selfish terms
~
I drown here silently, not wanting to be discovered
lying in my own hellish, ominous reef
of self-loathing and self-deceit
~
the cotton curtains are always drawn in this room
no flame melts wax down the candelabra
no light spills onto the quiet dining table
~
I suffocate in the air of hedonistic love
breaking mirrors, denying reflections
I cross myself out of the equation
~
there’s nothing inside this skin that looks for escape
there’s nowhere outside to promise solace
I am fragile, trapped Nothingness
