Quietly.

Sitting side by side on a swing,
moving between uncertainty and wistfulness,
we both stay silent.
I had imagined your face months ago, although your hair was darker
in my mind.
The names of faces
have long gone.
I have let down my Rapunzel hair,
and although I don't expect to feel your weight
tonight,
I will keep my braids loosened
just in case.

Ghosts.

The open window let the breeze in, carrying with it the smell of salt spray and ghosts from years passed/past.
Hands open; white, empty canvases.
In the moonlight the room expanded.
A world developed within these walls and I swam through the provinces I had once occupied.
I tangle myself up in an age that was my innocence, and greedily drink saltwater from my eyes.
I miss us so much more than miss.
The night is endless and my loss is forever.
Racing with dreams and messy thoughts, my mind slips further from the world I now belong,
I now belong.

Naked and dripping in moonlight, alabaster skin begins to hum with desire that only exists in the before.
Wriggling and slithering through imagined deep waters,
touching the wet memory we shared for lifetimes,
sinking further into a watery grave.

Girl On Fire.

She hasn't softened her grip on the noose, rough around her neck.
Shutting her eyes tighter than an oyster shell she tries to shed some salty water.
Next tuesday she'll set fire to herself,
waking the neighbours
and adding to the portrait of misery she has scarred on her skin.

Scattered bottles of pills and rusted razor blades,
bottles of charcoal
and a bathtub of lukewarm water is where she calls home.
She wraps herself up in kerosene comforts and inhales.
She is running into her end as fast as she can.

They have burnt sage to exorcise her, and pulsed her mind to numb her.
She knows the walls of pure white rooms are the blackest of all.
She gets higher when she swallows gravel,
finds more clarity with her head underwater.
"That girl", they whisper,  "That girl is on fire."