Her blanket is insecurity,
her pillow is commotion.
She gladly bites the hand that feeds
her curiosity of emotion.

Colors are what she feels,
this she finds true.
When sadness does appear
she sees a cliched blue.

But when happiness is present
pink and purple will adhere.
Blossoms of pastels
throughout her atmosphere.

Antihistamines are used
to shut her weary eyes.
Insomnia will go away
until tomorrow night.

I will be a good person
In a perfect world of other good persons,
And then I will wake up to the real world, but I will forget,
How to not be a good person.

We are unfit
for these lives
as we lead them;
betrayed, moon-sick,
palmfuls of our pills
getting washed down
with the cheap wine
we hide under the sinks;
even the streets
are depressed
under the vinyl sun
with a lion's mane
of cloud, anxious
in the passing;
I don't know
what life I would shape
for you to make you happy,
but it wouldn't look
anything like this one.