Irreparable

the pink vitamin pill has been on the tile floor for weeks, sessile near the bathtub, friends with sick salmon-hued rugs and unswept mess. My hair the color of burnt dish water, the walls thin. Sometimes my pale body is pretty, sleepless with a heart on my sleeve.
I'll draw a figure and pace the recital hall, feet tripping yellow on the echo of the wood. The cold I seem to come back to every night when the ground has frozen and our breaths dance like they were just born. On the steps to a porch to a place left alone for too long - we can look out on the world of scraggled shadow trees and creatures maybe waiting. The subtle smile. The trumpet drone.
Saving my money, thinking of how I should say goodbye
"with a handshake, or an embrace, or a kiss on the cheek? Possibly all three"