thirty seconds before 12am, and the clocks are
freezing again--

there's too much fog on
the windows to see out, much too perfect to
even touch,
it's just our stuck-up curiosity lingering in
shadowed corners leftover from
yesterday's latest break.up--
they're phenomenal in the best possible ways
disillusioned from already-leaked secrets,
and the world outside is too late
anyway.

there's a little orphan girl across the street,
selling matchsticks for money;
she leans against frozen lampposts to catch
her
breath, (cold against the winter air)
she dreams of opaque windows blinded by
warmth and heat, but--
it's our fogged windows she cannot see through
and our locked doors she doesn't step through
but our latest sins are too strong
even for those glass windows.

we're sipping lukewarm poison in front of
the fireplace,
taking life for granted in our most
favorite ways while
the little girl
falls
asleep
as her last match burns out.

a/n. trying something new. rhymes in the most disjointed way, atonal in the least expected phrase, almost like the best kind of contemporary music. hehe♥ thoughts?