My Lolita

The worst of it is
when you're alone at 3 in the morning
and it's quiet.

You're by yourself,
no need to hold it together,
but you still won't cry.

You could cry. Sweet Lolita,
you could shed a river to rival the Mississippi, and no one would be the wiser.

You're alone.
No one is there to judge you
but you still won't 

because there is you to deal with, 
and you don't want to appear weak
even to yourself. 

The makeshift levee keeping you're mind 
intact is about ready to break, 
it's overflowing. 

The pressure is high, and you're holding this 
unstable structure together with ducktape 
and plugging in the cracks with chewed up bubble gum.

It's hopeless, 
my dear, 
this levee, but it'll hold another night. 

For now, you stare at the ceiling
and count the seconds between heartbeats, 
reminding yourself that you're not imaginary. 

Very much present in this farce reality.
The gears keep turning, and there's a gremlin in your ear whispering godless things,

And for years you were far too naive
to tell him to shhh, shut up 
and get your ass in the corner. 

Naive Lolita, 
the mind is as shattered
as your pulp of a heart.

Poor, pitiful Lolita. 
You never could put yourself back together again
now, could you?

Do you know
what hurts worse
than a broken heart?

Not remembering 
what it was like before.
How whole you feel.

My Lolita, 
that hearts been
broken so long

I doubt 
you could remember 
a time when it wasn't.

How long my sweet Lolita 
tried to repair it
so many times 

but it just keeps breaking.
All shattered to bits.
There's hardly anything left now to fix.

My broken Lolita, 
the reflection of 
my most sacred regrets. 

Young Lolita, 
though I tried 
to right the wrong,

I failed you. 
I never wanted you
to become so hollow.

My empty Lolita doll, 
you were damaged
beyond repair.

My Lolita,
We fix the bruised.
Not the broken.