crimson humanity

Maybe I’ll just close the door.

There’s not enough light in here for me to feel awake,

Or sober, or existent, or human,

So instead of thinking, I’ll spiral into lovely, satin decisions.

My mistakes sound so pretty when whispered

Or sighed on a dimly lit city street

When they’re seeded within your soil of fantasy

For you to face disappointment, come Spring.

And it comes to you, eventually,

That I am human.

And I feel just as many things

As the next and last person to know you.

And God, I know, it’s so hideous.

Tell me about it.

And while you do, pay close attention.

Watch as my eyes harden into glass,

Not a lens, for it’d be far too hazy,

But a mirror, and still, I bet you’ll see your figure.

Watch as my cheekbones become a letter

Of sincerity, disgrace, emotion

And my shoulders become a surface

For catharsis, exhalation, devoid of expectation;

Humanity.

- M. Rose