mother's womb
is a trap
parent's home
is a trap
cheap apartment
is a trap
my house
is a trap
hospital bed
is a trap
coffin
is a trap
the concept of freedom
trap
the word "escape"
trap
thoughts
trap

no escape

vestigial limbs
infamously touch
separate spirits
black, they do turn

Hello Mister Sun
It's been twelve hours since I've seen you
I haven't slept since then
But it's good to know
Someone will always be there for me

Sideline standing
I can see
Ink crashing down
So gracefully

Line after line
Letters arise
Melding into words
Without compromise

Oh my god
When will he stop?
He keeps writing
He won't stop writing

*******
HE WON'T STOP
THIS IS INSANE
JESUS ****

He's almost at the end of the page
Wow
What happens when he reaches the end?
I should've brought popcorn

Wait

What is he doing?
Oh I see

He's letting me climb onto his pen!
Front row seats!

Wait, where is he going?
The window?
No don't put me outside please
nonono

NO



windowsill standing
i can see
sun setting down
so dreadfully

where can i go
where i can be free
when all the other houses
would've killed me

In an eon from now
Will these poems
Be mutilated at the seams
By demons spawned from hell?

In a generation from now
Will these poems
Be burned to death
By an unruly cigarette?

In twenty years from now
Will my poems
Be willingly ignored
By my hatred of my own past?

When I change
Will I still accept who I once was?

Softly fluttering through the sky
Black polka dots atop a body as
Red as the pictures of my dog's eyes
Break from your flight

Legs pitter pattering
Over the plastic
Seeking a smattering
Of grape essence

Can you comprehend
What you're walking on?
Do you understand how
Bad it is for the environment?

No, you can't
Cause you're a
Stupid ***
*******
Piece
Of
****
Ladybug

get off my bag of grapes

so many poems
are about heartbreak
but what about
the leaves we rake?

so many poems
are about loss
but what about
your grandma's tomato sauce?

so many poems
are about love
but what about
your nice winter glove?

if we took a step back
and saw the little things
maybe we wouldn't need as many poems
about depression