She wants to wear her
Like a wedding dress
Draped colorless from shoulder
To shoulder
Body void against her skin
Breasts and hips and wrists
Tied like a child's Christmas gift

But nightmares crawl beneath her fingernails
Like oxymoron's against her lips
They taste like cheap wine and cigarettes
Spider web words dangling from her tongue
With imaginary infants crawling up the mesh
Only to fall down on their chins
Heads breaking open in an array of colorful somethings
Tasty new dreams dripping into storm drains

She used to think words were more about breathing
And less about speaking
But then speaking became breaths of oxygen
Smashed between words
Like a bad painting on display
Things blended blindly like a mistake not meant to be fixed
So she bit her tongue and bled
Writing poet pictures underneath autumn's dead leaves
Because they drank in inspiration and almost
Almost
Were alive again

Now she mostly pretends to believe in love
Closing her eyes
Flossing her fingers through the lace of the skin
Of a pale bridal dress
Pretending she's an antique butterfly
Instead of bathing alone in her tainted rain