I’m too sad
to make my bed today

Dear arch nemesis:
I have a a bearded dragon
and you don’t.

I win;
you ****.

I’m not done hating you yet,
Darling.

these days, emptiness is beginning to look more like a poem that writes itself. the irony is it is everything i can't be and everything i am

i used to deny myself death
as i was learned inflicting it
  would send me to hell.

i guess it saved me

i still bathe in that wish.
counting as they slowly wilt away,
  my white pedals of ash.
   the reward of risking the whole flower.