skin

and in my skin i draw stars, and their lines and constellations, which discreetly cover scars, broken dreams and aspirations.

and near my eyes i draw the trails which the tears run down at night in gold and glitter like the tales of shooting stars and their light.

and my palms, i paint them black so i can remember all i touched, so i can dream of you being back, so i may hold you in my arms.

and on my shoulders i write words that speak of my disgraces and they all sound like broken bones every time i stay awake.

and now i'm only ink that's been spilled and lost with me. and now i speak in verse, but i might be running out.

and i feel short of breath, and i feel like i'm scared, and i feel like i'm dead as if lying on my grave.

and i want to be clean, and i want to be pure, to be made out of light, and to fly far away.

let me read who i am.