Aleph.
you first notice her fingers.
they are crisscrossed with microlines, she has been picking up glass again and the little pieces kissed her skin and left red stains.
her eyes grow dark when she's alone; not because no one talked to her but because she gave a piece of light to everyone she loved, and how she loved well. she raises her palms in reflex when you only wanted to give her bandages, she is damaged inside and not at all what you think.
she drinks gasoline because it burns down her throat. it's real, more real than grey conversations and heads so weightless they float, maybe that's why she loved broken things: she was broken too.
YOU ARE READING
pomes 2k15
Poetryin which Mai will attempt to write 30 poems* ('pomes') in 30 days. *: no promises. may fail. may not always deliver poems lel.
