my hair is curly and the skin under my eyes is dark and my bones are melting and when i sit on the bus in the dark mornings i close my eyes and wish that it would fold into a tree like an accordion and my bones would shatter into the cracked plastic seats.

when i look in the mirror i am not me i am a ghost with bruises on its neck and sadblue water under its skin i've lost all my friends they don't love me anymore because i don't love me anymore

they can't look me in the eyes so they lock me in a box marked "keep at arms distance" and pretend they havent seen it all haven't seen me fall the years count for nothing the bruises never existed

you locked that box a long time ago when the leaves were red wine and the air was crackling and you threw the box in a pile and set it on fire because it was easier that way it was easier than feeling.