and the day blurs angry into blue skies, pulls me from my bed and i lay my hands at the base of my neck and cry

(today i looked at my hips and scars reached across them 
the span of my hand couldn't cover them
i don't know who i am anymore 

everything falls like troy like me 
if i was Cassandra would i even bother trying to tell people
or would i just let the world fall to fire and ruin
sink myself into the storm and drown in my recklessness
in my mistakes in my unwillingness to prophesize

i want to tell Cassandra i don't know why she kept on telling her stories
why she spoke when nobody would listen
why i am not strong enough to do the same

and the other day 
i looked at a bottle of acetone 
and wondered how much it would burn 
sliding acid and poison down my throat
if it would kill me

and i look back at my skin
and i think 
that i already have too many mistakes to live with.)

The End

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