passing magic

whisper

i am dizzy
and
jaded
and
stumbling,
dragging my feet
to the rhythm of my
pounding headache

my eyes are overcast,
yet my glazed pupils
seem to
drift up of their
own accord,
searching, wandering-

and she is there;

as rich and holy and delicate,
as the day she
left

and i tell her
i don't like being
in my own skin
and i tell her
i don't like being
in front of mirrors
and i tell her
i don't like

me

and i tell her
my secrets
as if, like some sort of goddess,
she could
fix my broken
parts;

"you gotta love yourself, baby"
she sings,
soft lips and
pretty words

"if you don't, who else will?"