I was hard
I have a bad habit of
quietly falling in love
a quick, harsh voice, like sand
when speaking of waste
but beauty always drapes
its shedded skin
on my eyelids like a mask
I was scared
I have a quiet habit of
falling into madness
Where was I--leaning against tombstones
carving eagle figurines
from the bones of the dead
with tools made
from the bones of the living
only to flick them back
unto the shifting sands
I would stray
I have a bad habit of
falling in love, but wait--
it only happened once
a recurring dream
quenched, once, but
also forever
it is time who is stuck, not I, or
at least that's what she tells me
date unknown,
probably 2013 or 2014