• “You’re just feeling
    sorry for yourself.”
    Or am I?
    How long
    can you hang onto this?

    Vanilla doves fall
    from vanilla sky.
    White as my face,
    as pale as my body.
    What was I thinking?

    I melt and sink,
    trying to find a way out.
    “This is my way out.”
    But what is “this”?
    A catastrophe.

    Eyes watering,
    like the sky outside.
    Can Mother Nature
    read my emotions,
    like I read your lies?

    Fall apart,
    come together,
    and open your eyes now-
    “this is my way out.”