Progressively realizing a worthy ideal. My identity is not stagnant. I am forever changing.
I dare you to fall in love with me
I challenge you to find the tragic beauty in my distorted mind
To endure the agonizing truth that you crave these sleep deprived eyes
I am a book
At a flea market
Atop a disheveled table
My pages are stained by sunlight
I’ve tattoos by past active readers
Every few Sundays
When I was younger, Sundays were holy days.
Afternoons were spent drenched in damp conditions with heated hoods
Praying hands pressed moisture into every follicle, wide tooth combs threatened audible whines.
Her tattoo glowed in the dark
sorta like her soul
and the halo around her heart
and the ember in her bowl
I was looking for a girl on mars
but she’s been living on the moon