talk and lowly behavior,
over the already well worn paths of the cracks in my soul.
a mismatched whole back into its original two halves.
glances from the bracelet of blood at my wrist
in the chilled
that which horrified even me,
there on cold bathroom tile,
not to peer into the frosted mirror
at the crimson
past my collar bone.
my description of tears,
though I conveniently left out that they would be
Empty shouts into darkened hallways,
it's three a.m. and the night is