Sad Labels:
acceptance
,
catharsis
,
daunted
,
frailties
She had a clock upon her chest. Dividing sex arbitrarily in names. Decorations sagging under the weight of heavy lights and gifts not wrapped.
There were dark blue stones in her bracelet. True or False? There were photographs taken of skins she'd never wear again. The closet sinking like angels with wings made of paper. Dancing to the perpetual sigh of gods unwilling to save us.
That's what I rememeber.
It was raining. Gods were deciding if the hurt was real. It was cold. It was freezing. Skin was choosing sides.
Ours was losing.