secrets

there's an undercurrent of sadness, of sickness,

to her mastications.

crumbs dotting the corners of her mouth,

the only testament to methodical demolishment,

turn her into a five-year-old once more.

pale stained shapes swim over her shoulder,

new embellishments on the front of her top.

i watch, a bystander at a scene.

helplessly caught looking on,

i avert my eyes

as if i have been privy to unspoken secrets,

and barged in on an intimate and too naked moment.