and the future is a candle stick flame that quivers inside
your empty shadow, my bored heart races to the finish line
and we celebrate the superficial victory with tissue paper streamers and
balloons that burst (even without provoking from the silver fork you like to stab)
You claim love could save the world but all you gave me
was a plastic ring, I knew you parted with just two quarters
for it from the gumball vending machine
in the grocery store
, but I loved it anyway cause I thought, maybe, that you meant it.
and I want to know
Am I just another girl with a pocket full of daisies and a less than sunshine
smile who was
good at drawing continuous butterflies, (the glitter leaked from my pen but
the fragile beauty bled from my fingertips) ?