I've written until ink stained my hands, my body numb, and yet I find myself still lost.

Lost, my mind does stare
Into the truth that is not there

In eternity the vacant stare
Captivated my hand’s touch
And pressed its finger against
My lips….in a hush child hush

If the eyes are windows to the soul, mine
Must be broken, shattered at your palm.

Maybe is a word invented to avoid a question

Touch me. I am breakable.
I am dividable. I am human.

Girl Interrupted: Stuck in ambivalence.

If I were to be a terrible writer than I would not cry wasting a gift I never had.

I’ve yet to fall in the face of guilt
but I’ve recoiled at its tainted touch

I’ve read the curse; it exists in me