by the way she places her hands on my shoulders
or the look in her eyes when I speak about things she doesn't know
I don't like the way the birds chirp around her
or how she smashes bugs under her feet without a second glance,
that "never look back, but see how sad is my past" of hers.
I can feel the air becoming thicker when she stares at me
I can smell it
the smell of blackcurrant and dead crabs with an oily touch.
And she came to me even though she must already notice I don't trust her
so I told her, go back to your pillowless nights and broken bracelates,
tell your people what you really have inside,
those rotten dreams of you are not bringing you the best luck
dig deep, dig deeper, stretch your bones to the sky,
open your mouth and throw all those wasted cigarettes and empty glasses off your chest,
I don't want to know the colour of your blood,
I don't need a picture of your legless sighs,
leave the last leaf on the branch
now that the sand reaches your forehead.
Ilustration found in 2headedsnake tumblr.