Amethyst-Ringlet

sometimes i can see the tension in her smile. it's those long-night mornings               where she's so spent                  she can't hardly walk straight    and her image of a perfect life slips just enough that as she's tumbling into bed, in the moment before she passes out, she looks at me. through her exhaustion and her dazed feelings from pulling yet another all-nighter,                    she smiles.      it's her smile she says is just for me      because in that moment, in that smile,      she has let everything go. she won't admit to it, not even to me, but she's tired. not tired as in sleepy, but tired as

sometimes i can see the tension in her smile. it's those long-night mornings               where she's so spent                  she can't hardly walk straight    and her image of a perfect life slips just enough that as she's tumbling into bed, in the moment before she passes out, she looks at me. through her exhaustion and her dazed feelings from pulling yet another all-nighter,                    she smiles.      it's her smile she says is just for me      because in that moment, in that smile,      she has let everything go. she won't admit to it, not even to me, but she's tired. not tired as in sleepy, but tired as

seven, a lucky number (for some) that just happened to be my saving grace. because there's only so long that the fix of fake friends and weak smiles will hold up... and when it all comes pouring down in sheets (and it will) after pulling away one too many pieces, the balancing act of borderline depression will fail. but my weakness was attractive, the words i spun and the things i'd admit... claiming my throne of lost chances and regrets, there's something in the way the crystal stars rise every night since then and the way the moon, scarred and lovely, is perfect (to me) in it's imperfect beauty- that gave me some kind of hope. and now