Sofia's Lullaby

i know her and i’ve known her. analyzed her antics. 
she sits out on open window sills, Park Slope splaying beneath her. 
on her dresser lies the hollowed remains of old lovers, 
perfume and cheap lighters.  

she cries honey tears, in her romanticized sadness.
idolized in the poems i’ve written on the inside of her skin
etched and scratched over again with
Five Below fake nails. 

she knows me.
under her bed,
lays my heart in a glass jar
tangled next to ticket stubs
and fantasies about running away.