B R E A T H E

m o l e c u l e s

it happens every few months

i disappear into the shadows to get rid of melancholia

i wonder if i can shed it once and for all—like a serpent shedding it's skin so that when i turn up, i am good as new with no traces of who i was just two days ago

i change colors like the worst kind of chameleon and leave my lovers wondering who this girl— they claim to know as the world knows it's sun— really is

is she someone who sends them scented emails or the one who bleeds on paper?

is she the one who insists on never plucking a flower from a spring born field or the one who suffocates rose petals in her books?

is she the one whose crinkles shine with unshed tears when she smiles or the one whose wailing cries make the oceans tremble?

is she the one who gives life to a dying flame or the one who sets herself on fire only to watch her skin melting away?

who is she really?

well, to answer those questions, i am just a wayfarer inhabiting this skin prison

the best kind of hypocrite

the worst kind of paradox

insanity speckled with the sunny hue of dandelions

i am, above all, a wreckage seconds away from sinking into the abyss and holding on to dear life until my palm bleeds from the force of not letting go

so, i am asking you to stay and hold me before i dissolve into molecules and slip away from your arms,
again.