there’s no question mark, in the reproachful beating of
punctually registrating the time i’ve clearly wasted.
eyes reveal an eggsh-ll with with a concrete look.
fragile like chinese porcelain, still my mand can’t break
i tried the fists, the pride, the tears, denial.
but all i needed was a simple smile.
the thing i love is what i fear.
afraid i’d hold, i’d strangle.
the painting merely ill-strates the one that broke the
is no one else but you.