myopic frames on a stern temple remind me that once he too wandered recklessly and felt ardent
empowered by time on his sleeve
there was nothing he couldn't conquer and nothing standing between the open air and breathing it in
i suppose the difference here is i grab the breath of air and hold it in my pocket for when i stop being so nervous

marshmallow heart
the road only goes one way and the streetlights hover and coil eternally, you can never meet the epilogue
a drive-thru drink in one hand while you feel your hair tangling into a mess of a beehive, the one that likes to unwind in soft tendrils on a weak pillow
heart racing for the constant fueling of a near empty tank telling you to go further this time, this time
time isn't yours


holding in a cough
i too have tried to drown waterbugs
my cheek pressed against the tiles of a kitchen floor, hand perched languidly as my fingers make circles in the tiny swamp i made in the middle of the room
but i forget laying there until i hear my own soul walk in with bare feet addressing the elephant in the room, the one that hasn't left since i was sick with bronchitis that winter years ago
and i want to tell her to come here, to come back inside myself so it doesn't feel so cold this season of frost but she brushes me off with the temperament of a child
"i don't exist, i never did" the words dawdle back and forth from her back molars to her incisors  
and i remember when i felt like i was dying when i hopped from one state to the next but realizing a little to late that if i were to go back my dread would jump on the back of my shoulders and force me to look it into it's shiny face and show me the mild nuisance of what it means to be alive
so my soul closes the door and i hear the keys rattle and i myself sink into the warm arms of someone i spent my entire life with

Tell me a lie

Then
Try to convince, it's true
Try harder with evidences to prove

Tell me a lie

Then
Change the expression to assure
Hide the vibration to prove

I will be amused by
The act
The subtle effort, and
The precious wasted time

Ha ha
Tell me
More lies.......more

Scars are the evidence that wounds can be healed...

but scars are also a reminder of how those wounds got there...

Tyre marks,
The only proof she ever existed,
One black lock of hair,
A tooth on the hotel bathroom floor,
Tiny blood splatters on the mirror,
Finger print smudges on the motorway diner glass,
Boot prints on the child’s drive way,
An open window,
An empty pink coat hanger.

The past is just a lie
Your words will not surmise
To be or not to be
I wish it was that easy



© Sofia Villagrana 2018