Lost at Sea

She’s so tragic
and beautiful,
how she dresses like
every day is a funeral.

If she rolls up her sleeves I
swear you’ll see her heart,
pumping hard and bleeding out
like Jackson Pollock art.

She expresses her feelings
solely with simplicity.
I look into the mirror and know
that I lack such authenticity.

I don’t even know
if I can like what I see
when I look into my own eyes
and get lost at sea.

Sometimes I think my ribcage
grabs ahold of my heart
and wrings it dry
until my mind falls apart.

Are you any good at puzzles,
crosswords or word searches?
Every time I get close,
my stomach violently lurches.

Maybe you can help
if you don’t give up on me too.
Tell me what you see
when I look back at you.

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