Some days are the first of summer:
Clouds tinged with colour, 
Laughter bubbling out
Like froth kissing the sides of a soda can.
Some days are chaos:
Misery runs to my embrace.
I salt my cuts and eat them raw,
Squeeze my chest to cease the hurt
Or to make it bloom anew.

Some nights are cups of tea
Warm and strong and soothing my fears
Scent of paper holding my eyelids taut
And my hand gliding across a sonnet maze
Raw and scribbling but with that storyteller grace.
Some nights are milk beginning to curdle,
Pounding head and silent heart,
Numb with pain
Sat on the floor behind a wall
-Sneering at fairytale people
And their calligraphic font-
Sour and bitter,
Never to fit in a storybook page,
Too much ugliness that would litter.

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