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) ?