Silhouette

[dotgraph]

 Slick like the linear lines of your bone limbs
But are you there
Are you the infestation that I want everyone to see?

And you,
you just want a fitted person to love.
Someone of worth to know.
Because they want to.
Comprehend
the dripping leaks on the walls you press against.
The inner isolation that's relished
required-
appreciated.
Withholding love
and it grows so cumbersome
so big
you lose some
like paper balls rolled tight to hold smeared pieces of your actuality.

And there you are.
Long limbs
Flesh lips and bones.
Cheeks in sodium gloss pores.
You refuse to press them off.
So that the mirror will remind you.

There you are 
blotting impressionable skin
upon the pimpled wall.

There you are.
Such loneliness is truth,
you liar.