Why does falling in love feel like photographing ghosts?
Why does it feel like chasing after translucent clues?
I have no proof, just a sad demeanor and joyless toasts.
Maybe the pain will go if I turn on the local news.
Why does the iridescent sheen in my eyes drip water?
I could write a hundred endings, but I crave just one.
My skull will let me fall, yet it will not let me barter.
I can make my excuses,
The fate has already won.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 