for two years
i made maps
took a fine tip pen
and connected the dots
to try and find my
way back.
but still, i am a tourist
here in my own skin.
i always get lost taking
the short cuts
trying to find my happiness.
the girls bathroom
is emptying slowly,
they reapply lipstick
and foundation,
rounding out cheekbones
and smile wide in the mirror.
i sit in the quiet.
finally the door closes
and i am the only one here.
these hands are not mine
as they tremble and shake.
the sharpness lays its silver
lining in the center of my palm.
one
two
three drops of blood
hitting the ground.
quick.
act quick,
i stutter.
i am small in this
world of giant buildings.
the leaning tower of pisa
one of the most remarkable
architectural
structures in europe.
famous for its tilt.
the empire state building.
the coliseum,
the largest roman
amphitheatre ever built.
dare i compare myself
but i am only a speck
of dirt,
a small combination of cells
in comparison.
my tilt is a carnival ride
a tilt-a-whirl i keep getting on
only to spin out of control.
for two years
i have been playing
russian roulette
with my life.
the revolver tastes sharp
on my tongue.