She loves me she loves me not
I keep telling myself I don’t know you
practicing in the mirror
seeing myself bowing down
lowering myself to my knees
reaching out and pulling your
wrists toward my lips
You didn’t mean to leave your mascara
bleeding like black ink
on my hands and
down your rose-colored cheeks
my skin like a paper towel
absorbing it all in
Somehow I missed a perfect chance
to find a perfect paradise
located beyond the border
somewhere past the looking-glass
now scattered on the floor
broken into tiny little pieces
september two thousand sixteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved





