Yellow Fragile Tremulous

And I can barely look at you. And I can barely look at you. And I can barely look at you. Your fading. Your degradation. Your loss of sharpness. Your frailty. Your limited time. Your own design, separate from my hopes. Your clouded window. Your body in need. My body in need. And I can barely look at you. My skin, unfamiliar on the back of my hand, where frailty always reveals itself first. And I can barely look at you. Your gathered fog, your decaying vision. And I can barely look at you. Life that could've been but won't get lived - I can barely look at you. Girl who thought she had time - I can barely look at you. Heart softening like red candlewax with age - I can barely look at you. Skin covering my stomach, once so familiar - I can barely look at you. Lungs operating fine but knowing that might not last and there's nothing I can do - I can barely look at you. Everywhere on my body that holds a memory of someone else - I'm sorry and I can barely look at you. Hair that's like spiderweb lines now, thinner, less durable - spun gold, you like to think but that's just because believing you're beautiful is easier than allowing just how fragile you are - I can barely look at you. Wings still threatening me with a good time, I can barely look at you. Part of me who wants to just ignore this and pretend everything's fine - I can barely look at you.

Every part of me feels yellow, fragile, tremulous - an aspen leaf on a bare white branch. Dizzy. Uncertain. Scared. Twirling when I don't want that. Young and old at the same time. A candle flickering - once ivory, turning grey. And I can barely look at you.