Slight and understated emotional turnover. The dizziness that has consumed me lately, the ultimate tests and the achingly slow approach of Autumn. Distressed walls and antique throws, I find myself in the turn, I find myself lying with use of my clothing.
Each statement, each slur has embedded some where within bone, to be extracted later and mistaken for. And my heart wills me to be better, for it sees the body encasing itself, it sees the mishapen lull, it senses the lack and the over.
'What am I?', it cries to me, 'What is this beast in which you have placed me?!'
And so the heaviness in my chest swells, and my need for appreciation from my family furthers, waves from the horizon and laughs - 'She'll never do...'.
I grip these arms distastefully, and paint these eyes to see sweetly, to rosily tint the awful posture, the bad demeanour and the voice that could not hold a note.
'How I wish to speak' leaks the heart, secondly, 'How, if only you could, I could share a dream or two!'.
It sighs up into my throat, and remains dull and still.
'If only you could walk well, if only you would grow tall, oh if only you could sing!'.

A record creaks into play beside me, and beauty falls from it, and all that I feel is the jealousy of my heart, how it selfishly sighs and points me the blame.
Beautiful people are only people that have some thing beautiful to give.
'Even as small as a laugh', reminds the heart.