by Eva Jardine
In the backseat you bleed something blue,
and it tastes just like love: bittersweet.
But I am far away.
The tighter you hold me the deeper I go,
following a light I thought led above ground.
So paint me any color that will let you sleep tonight,
but know that underneath this shell I am so
Too small to hold like this.
Too small to love.
The headlights will take us away,
and by the sea I’ll pretend to be real,
and you’ll pretend not to see.
Eva Jardine is an English major at Rutgers, with a strong passion for poetry, fiction and the arts. Her writing mostly describes mental illness as well as alienation. In her free time, she enjoys painting, hiking, and spending time with her cat. This is her first publication.