brush the petals of your fingers over

my cheeks; (a garden of your delight)

watch me flinch away

(shrinking violets make no sound)

the blank magazine faces on

my walls

are watching, why do their

marble-hard eyes remind me

so much of you?

lately you've been scaring (scarring)

me;

I am not Ophelia

you can't play the

mad prince.

the eyes (masks) are looking again,

judging,

but with those

too-bright

eyes

you're good at that too.


ehh I'm not too crazy about this. I don't know what's up with me and my Shakespeare theme these days...