She Is.

She bites her lip as if weary of composing tangled scripture.

She sews desire new skin every time it falls apart.

Reason was a lovechild she pushed out to sea,

In a chest, with locks like all the scars on her lover's backs.

Unforgiving.

She smears her heart on the wall like a statement,

She asks you to clean up the mess.

She wants to say;

"We are speaking different languages."

She argues linguistics with herself and she doesn't understand,

You.

She leaves in the middle of the night to decompress.

She sits in dark gardens trying to lose touch with the inevitable.

With a snake pit mind, she searches for balance.

She tries to startle time and make it jump forward.

She doesn't remember her own bed.

She won't look you in the eye when she says,

There isn't a second she regrets.

The direction she chose is the right one.

She says she's certain.

She tells you her life feels like arson.

She seems angry.

She paces and weaves in mysterious patterns and,

Bids you goodnight too early.

She never caught your love as she walked out.

She said she's almost ready to let go.