The way you streak through my sky in shades of pink & indigo & some kind of blue ; you could strike & cease everything that is me. But for now you are the most beautiful kind of something, anything, everything. You are more like a late-afternoon comet & I'm using your lies & bad memories as rusty scissors. Every time you spoke a syllable, I felt my ears ready to bleed. There is truth in your blood, & it's staining your jeans. The truth is coming out. Against your will, it's finally hemorrhaging, & now you're going to bleed to death. A million band-aids couldn't heal that. No longer am I, trapped in my den.