Nostalgia
Her story begins at 8 years old
when the sun and the moon
of her intangible world
drift apart
Constellations become only stars
and supernovas are veiled
by sepia skies
10 years old and she can hear the stars whisper
They say the sun is a tumor
that it will grow-
it will die-
leaving nothing but desolate orbs
suspended in a cloudless expanse of night
At 13 she is hunted by demons
Gossip, lies, backstabbing
pretty blonde girls with poison perfume
An aura of gravity eating away at her skin
she is too young to be strong
and she is kidnapped by the entity in the mirror
14 years of age
Her wrists are ruled
like the essays and citations
to which she sells her days
Leaning towers loom on the outskirts of her bedroom
daring her to toss aside just one more Shakespeare analysis
threatening to topple
and make her disappear
She is perched on the corpse of the chesterfield
up to her ankles in cotton entrails
They say she's dug her own grave
15 and high on adrenaline
Ethereal fingers and chain-link spine
she spends her nights
bowed at the foot of a porcelain throne
Ghosts aren't invited to house parties
and no one wants to dance with the skeleton girl
Turning pages of her fleeting memories
she watches herself fasten the noose
that now lingers
in the back of her closet
hanging among forgotten clothes
Her screams are sirens
drowned by the din of aluminum steeds
on asphalt plains
"I'm fine" is no longer an arrangement of words
but the mark of a liar
they will never know that she is hiding
behind the whites of her eyes
Her life is a Venn diagram of friends and enemies
Lullabies echo off the cavern walls
falling into the sliver where the circles meet
she trusts them
like the adamant shapes in her reflection
acid on enamel
the salt stains on her pillow
every stitch she sews into the holes of fabrication
means
it's
falling
apart
So many reasons she was not "a happy child"
yet you ask her why
she doesn't have
nostalgia
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