Delicacy and Death

Some days I’m a sucker for perfection,

Wearing the right clothes, just the right amount of makeup,

My hair the perfect blend of waves and curls,

Each inch telling its own story;

I tread with great care, each second a translucent butterfly,

My hands, claws, I’m too careful to bruise it;

The day leaves too quickly,

Leaving me under the gentle nursing of a nightmarish night;

Some days, my hands are baby like and un-harming,

Each second, an infectious cluster of deadly virus I’m unable to destroy,

Unbelievably stretched;

Tingling wrists, ringing ears, calloused feet,

Dry hair and bloodshot eyes;

Happy is long back in the past

And I’ll be long dead before the future arrives.

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Author:

I've been writing poetry since I was a kid and my poetry is without fail a description of things that matter, to me. I pretend to not like love poetry. I have an insane love for popcorn!

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