January saw raw lips and bruised knees
from biting back her words and the struggle for solid ground.
February saw dried flowers in the window,
but she could only hang upside down for so long
before she lost her grip and crashed.
March saw dilated pupils and swollen storm clouds,
full of self-doubt and irrepressible memories.
April saw a loss of words accompanied by a ****** loss
of something far more precious.
May saw blooming flowers,
but she choked on the dirt in her lungs.
June saw her “love’s” final kiss,
and a preference for a model newer than she,
without a broken windshield.
July saw tears mixed with rainwater running into gutters,
and desperate wishes lost on dying starlight.
August saw feeble movement and blurry disappointment
that her orange bottle of hope had failed her
again.
September saw pale fingers closing around long sleeves
to hide angry purple lines of control and release.
October saw sunken cheekbones against cold porcelain,
and lovely handiwork wasting away.
November saw candle wax dripping into closing sockets
until scabbed defeat finally blew out the flame.
And December saw a dark wooden bed
below six feet of worms and decomposed youth.
