Lives are spent counting pennies and petty doubts.
Eyes so quick to see flaws fail to see the hope in my smile.
I can see things now.
Will I pluck an eyelash and prick my thumb to sign my soul away in blood?
Plots made. Sketches drawn.
Adapt. Exchange. Renew.
Swiftly tilting, slowly sinking.
A paradox of motion.
Don't you know?
Telescopes, aimed at breaking hearts for a closer inspection, a better dissection.
Different sneakers for each day of the week, hiding mismatched socks like she hides her crooked smile.
I'm falling into the real world like Alice through the rabbit hole.