Terms of Endearment

It is like sublimely stumbling through the woods at night;
The moon beams only shine straight into my irises every now and again.
Sometimes I shudder, I shatter as the cold air seeps through my veins and fills my lungs
Like balloons; it freezes my mind and I fall.
On the forest floor I grasp and pull at the ropes and roots and weeds for a glimpse
Of the water table, only to find myself
Up to an arm in gravel and mud.
But I do climb trees and see silhouettes and my knees do bend,
Sometimes.
Sometimes,
I think you are watching me, weaving through the branches that spark like synapses
Inside this forest of delusional dreams and nonsensical nostalgia; time is nonexistent here so stay.
I can see for miles and miles,
Over the hills and through the leaves,
But I can only sprint so far,
And my footsteps can barely begin to trace paths through the sparkle of spiders’ webs.

Made of Glass

Look me in the eye and know just how I feel because
I have broken and been broken alike.
Behind the shine of laughter and the crinkled nose
My eyes are mosaics and if you focus you can see your reflection
If you shatter these walls (they're only made of glass, you know)
I could be an ocean,
Or a parachute,
Or a deck of cards.
But hearts will be broken if you do as I ask.