how do i tell him;
i'm just wasted--
moonstruck;
i can't feel his kiss
upon my hand,
i can't hold this
facade for too long
and i think
my son just died
in the backseat
of someone elses
car, lost even my
cemetary ground
i can't kill myself
i must hide from the day
i wear dresses to hide ankle scars
from being dragged to hell and back
i smile at all the wrong times
how do i tell him;
it's nothing.
