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an aviary Aug 10
how can i provide for you, my dear?
if there's anything i have that you need - come on, take it
do you need a cosy bed to sleep in? come on, tell me
do you need a human chest to sleep on? come on, lay here
an aviary Mar 22
you still have to work after the rain
when puddles start to pour down the drain
when the excess blood finally leaks
from your unforgiving dried up cheeks
you have to look yourself in the eye
in your bathroom mirror as you sigh
and put aside your worn frustration
washing your hands post-*******
unfair as it is, you'll circle back
to cleaning it up after you crack
and collecting every broken part
until the misery is balanced out
unfair as it is, you'll bury this
knowing you shouldn't tempt the abyss
08/2020
an aviary Dec 2020
i've been through nuclear winter
wishing to vanish, believe me -
wanting to let it consume me -
and no one suspected a thing

i've stifled every bone tremor
and denied every visitor
for nothing. a slow kind of death
with lucky days sewn into it

fragments of time are dissolving
every hour inside my head
leaving only outlines in dust
leaving all the damages done

the evil's been born already
across cold water, luminous
all of its wounds on the surface
all of its scars in their glory
an aviary Jul 2020
eyes red and dry like i've been crying
and hands reaching out to the hiding dangers
with careful steps so as not to wake up
my exhausted twin guardian angels
the devil's right hand clings to my belt
the sun sets so late in the summer
when the time is right and the sunset's nigh
give the dust i'll turn into back to no man's land
for now i crawl aimlessly on a floor like a desert
tenderly gripping the devil's hand
an aviary Jul 2019
you have to

listen more than you speak
read more than you write
cook more than you eat
seek more than you find

act more than you sleep
practice more than you preach
sow more than you reap
stain more than you bleach
an aviary Jun 2019
people roll around in trash
in greasy wrappers
and tangerine peels
they mosh and jump
in an endless garbage mass
a shard of broken glass
in their ash-filled air-pump
but they never for a second
struggle to breathe

it's one big waste bin
cardboard boxes collapse
metal cuts through skin
plastic sticks to the wound
glass is cold and sharp
the people, seemingly doomed
exist and pass energy around
with a loud spirited sound

people roll around in dirt
and when they're done
they go, they come back home

with specks of wind
whirring in their ears
stirring the desires
of their blood-pumping vessels
silver string in their hair
turns out to be wire

sweaty, red foreheads
with earth smeared all over
clothes green from grass
and greener from clover

people roll around in trash
people roll around in dirt
and so do i, don't you see
the obvious stains on my shirt?
an aviary May 2019
it's my last day being seventeen
and what i want to do is scream
howl menacingly into the void
and i want to stop pretending
i'm anything close to humanoid
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