The words become rushed, distorted, ugly in the glaring rush of reality
They twist and catch in my throat as i choke
The minutes blur and smudge- clicking away in the back of my mind
Tear out the doubt clutching to my stuttered speech-

It could be perfect

Ramblings would turn into hushed whispers
Fingers catching and curling, pressed into palms
A murmur is all it would take
Grasp at half-moon finger tips that lock together search with mine
Collapse and crush rib-cages and hipbones with force- enough to crack but they don't.

It could be perfect

A slow 60 second wait of bliss
Twirl catching smiles that fit into a dozen heart-shaped boxes

It could be perfect
But I rip away the pretty perfect musings to stumble on reality
And the tears they smudge/splatter black and blue with the red from my made-up lips
Mix and screech as i fall catching in my breath-back to where i was
The verses stop the flow and rhyme to give up on me
like
everything
else.

.

.

.

.

(a/n maybe i should give you this instead
see if you can figure it out)