smile, rosemary

sixteen

her

there are many

reasons to why

things like this

only happen to me.

i am toxic.

i am the alcohol

to an addict, the

knife to a murderer,

the sun to a child.

i counted this morning,

 there are more scars than

clear skin on my body,

even my eyes are bruised.

ever since i was a baby,

i loved my eyes. violet

was uncommon, lovely

and exquisite. my mom

compared them to plum

colored diamonds. and i,

i almost believed her.

but now? my eyes are bleeding

silver, the color is fading out.

i am a dying lilac flower.

where used to live a nomadic joy

has settled a sadness so deep, i

think my blood is no longer red;

but almost black.

almost.