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across from her is a chair that never stayed warm long enough to remembeer a body, a cold, untouched coffee. summer might come but the cold weather never go. some nights the darkness hugged and it's survivable. some nights the songs drags even the party humms lonely. usually opposite of what she envy. opposite from the empty chair is her sober body crueler that she'd embody because wanting something is easy when it carry the chance to be imaginary because hands are delicate things and yet what it touches too long eventually swell into bruises because sweet words can all be deceiving something like a sweet sickness in her bloodstream so the door stayed locked the song stayed loud the almost remain almosts and there you see the particular kind of her cowardice. starving beside a full table because she is convinced her mouth ruins everything it touches. the food spoiled and there you see her particular self-sabotage. convinced her mouth ruins everything it touches only to consume what is already ruined. still, when the lightning strike there it is that pathetic wish to be chosen gently without having to be known deeply.
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