My skin has festive balloons
tagged all over – smiling, bobbing,
spright and flambouyant.
Underneath the layers of skin,
my blood lurks with dead cells,
spreading, drying up into stains
of hollowness forming a murky fog
of heart-shaped lies called love,
but I cling to its presence.
I shy away from its kisses,
but my heart yearns for rectification.
The sweet after-tastes remind me
of my milked tea and honeyed lemonade,
not of the gumdrop days of beginnings.
I pour cup after cup of silence into
the empty basin, where my butterflies were.
They have lost their coloured wings,
metamorphosed into pieces of stretchy,
inflatable balloons, tagging my skin now.
I wore my heart on my sleeve,
now I wear my smiles on my skin
and my truths behind my eyelids.
– April 27th, 2016
© Sana Rose 2016