My mind is a casket
–reddish brown mahogany and golden hinges–
Locking away all that I’m not supposed to be
So I can sink deeper into the voices
Into the tides of normal
And watch its blackness lap at my eyes.
It’s time to be perfect
To give into that image of baby doll perfection
And endure the sweet suffocation
Of how you see me
As whispers that no one else can hear
Fill up what’s left of what I once was.