in your eyes, reversed shards
tinted tiny tricks
and my tattered whispers trapped in the Box of words
among letters and your pretty shiny things
baby chameleons in the closet
of course they are always there
playing subtile and kissed stories from a lier
tounges tickling glaring Kaleidoscope
hope in the dept of your wishing well
I live all my episodes alone in soft Hideouts shelters
will’o’wisps and fairytales strangers,
walking my walk talking my talk
vibes and tunes not mine
your moves and chills
and in my bones your cheap thrills
and my ribs like thorns cut sharp through raw flesh

Poetry: Emma Holtze