See us, dark bodies wrapped in white silk, lined with translucent silver

We are gloopy mascara collecting on the tips of dried up eyelashes,

Sticking tiny pins in our eyes pretending that we aren’t sweet

Shifting together to the continuous sound of a dying drumbeat

 

Sad ghosts watching the leaves turn orange

Buying tiny toys from teething trains

Sad songs sung to stop the want to linger

And picking flowers from the icing grass with black soot fingers

 

White bed sheets cover their arms and feet

Powder dusted faces blended in with an arrangement of arriereing leaves

And hands turning red and purple like the little scabs on a baby’s knees that are stinging

Sad ghosts collapsing at the feet of dark shadows made by crowds of people screaming

 

Holding shrinking stomachs and crying black glass tears

Leaving trails of scratches on the way down reddening cheeks

The inside of your body is on fire and the outside is standing in cold air

You and I are sad ghosting until we get to the autumn fair

 

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