deepundergroundpoetry.com

torn clothes (and less replaceable things)

brittle fingers
that must be matchsticks
everything she touches
burns to the ground
leaves her afraid
to get too close

paper lantern skin
thin and fragile
while flames lick at her chest
she breaks at a touch
and catches alight
apologetic as she burns

eyes of seafoam and smoke
sand crusted hair
and mother of pearl eyelids
she lies in a bed of warm water
tinted the red of relief
an illusion in a white bathtub

oxygen tank lungs
she dives deeper every time
tranquil, chill darkness
holds her down
saltwater in her veins
and spilling from her lips

in a house of cards she sleeps
tiptoes around arguments
lowers her voice as another raises
purple and blue flowers
blossom on her paper skin
it won't happen again

galaxies inside of her
fragile porcelain skull
old ripped jeans
from falling too much
and young torn minds
from falling too deep