Comatose

the clock rolls backwards

say hello to cold floors and breathing
ceilings and sleepless nights,
a snowflake city down in flames
and a humming monotony --

fingernails never dug deep enough.

you're stuck on words like I love him and
I miss him and this is it and I
love him I really really love- it's
better to have bled than ghosted
out into the

silence.
those are your thoughts suiciding themselves
under the smother of night, no
veneers can hide your
lines- time carved
you a new face and metered
your breaths;

asphyxiated and strung out by
your own needs, at least you had
the time
to write it all off,

but not before you tore the wings off the
weak-willed sparrows and cried
for yourself.

bleached eyes and too much black
liner cover the fact you can't
see
anymore, you can't
see
the world and it shouldn't see you

you're sick of butterflies melting on your
fingertips and fairydust that's only of
dreams long dead, and

you nightmared these very days long ago- of
love as a hoax and siphoning smiles
and, some things are better
not true.
       I love him.

this is how you live when you
aren't afraid to die, and the dents
in your heart do not hinder your
ability to float, on churning dirt,
barely unswallowed by the ground
that delivered you screaming into a world
wanting nothing more than to watch you
fall.
the scuffs don't make you crash, you
wish    they    did


your flutters kick the bucket,

finality tastes preemptive.