Inside

inside he bungled across deserts in a rusty suit of armour
outside it was incorrectly fitted and he often had to carry it

at night I stand face first into bushes and she walked on ahead
who knows what acrobatics the back of the back of her head is doing
the dolls teeter and squeeze me into cracks all Russian in their dress
it is hopeless really to think that I could run through this fun house

the sun melts his wax fortress of solitude and ragged and blind
and aching and his heart beating so fast that it may come outside
he walks across the room and drops a piece of paper that reads:

"if you stretched your hands upward, as if to the sky, you would be beautiful from your toes until your fingertips"