1521

The Butterfly upon the Sky,
That doesn’t know its Name
And hasn’t any tax to pay
And hasn’t any Home
Is just as high as you and I,
And higher, I believe,
So soar away and never sigh
And that’s the way to grieve—

first you dripped into it then I did
hanging by your neck above a teacup
bitter bitter bitter bitter bitter bitter
foam bubbles and swirls
wrapping you into it
dragging you in
as you drip drip drown
pool of lost memories
years forgotten
longing for what no longer exists
craving the unknown craving the unobtainable
brown leaks from the crack in the cup
your neck crrrrrrrrracks

Tea in hand
Sun on my back
Wind on my face
That is called love

Someone once told me,
"Find someone who puts the stars in the sky just for you."

"Don't be ridiculous,"I said,
"The stars have existed for billions of years;
Stars are dead, made of chemicals.
They can't even knew that we're here.
They don't know we survive.
They have seen more profound love than ours.

Stars do nothing for us, hell, they don't even shine that bright.
They just twinkle in the distance,
They have nothing to do with us.

How could I find someone
Who can put a gargantuan ball of gas
In a vacuum that we don't even know truly exists?

I would prefer someone who
Is smarter than you, and who knows that all I would really like is a good cup of tea."

finish that sentence
before you start something new.
and that cup
of tea too—
it’s getting cold
and the wanderers
are growing restless.
they are begging
for something new.
finish
so that we may begin again.

I may not be your
cup of tea but somebody
poured me, didn't they?

anxiety is my middle name
i've got a sore heart and a rusted soul
***** tastes just like water if you drink it fast enough
but tonight is for working, for preemptive fixes,
for hand cramps and write-delete-write-delete-delete-delete
there comes a time where ******* and moaning just doesn't cut it anymore
and you have to slap your cheeks (to pull it together) to stay awake
putting down your security blanket is harder than it seems
but beauty is pain and pain is bloodshot eyes and all-nighters
so the bags under my eyes really are pretty then, right?
true or false:
-staying up all night will wash away your daytime memories like whisky never could
i don't drink coffee
i'm drowning myself in tea too sweet just to make it through the next few hours
because i have so ******* much work to do
it's okay, though, if only because i'm used to being surrounded by a hell of my own design
i can see the bottom of my mug now and it's sneering at me, mocking me
it knows that i'm seconds away from getting up and filling it with more sugar, more hot water
and so i do, fulfilling a prophecy i wrote myself
but to republish a correction: i don't like doing this, despite contradicting evidence
i don't like falling and failing and flailing
i don't like watching myself run out of breath and steam and ideas
i don't like hating myself
but i'm a wreck, a tragedy, a sorry *******, and so i don't try to fix it, not really
i drink tea