Reshape

By: Grace-May Hansen

My temper is a candle, with it’s wick burning low
An impermanent cloud where I come and go
My mind is a cavern, where I bury things deep
So mostly I smile, but sometimes I weep
My body is a temple, at which I throw stones
The collisions break away soul, leaving only some bones
My skin is a trap, I cannot my escape
If only I could reshape