r.c.

you were a supernova caving in,
burning so bright you burned yourself.
a mighty flame that lit up the night sky,
falling and crashing from its own scalding flames;
self-destruction rips a hole in itself,
leaving a wreck that ****** in anyone
that got too close.

you, who parted
in trickles of silk,
your eyes shining
like a priceless gem
and i, hollowed—
an echoing shell,
a desert in my soul,
a shadow's farewell.

r.c.

I am humming a song that does not exist,
making a sound with no thoughts but to make,
but to sing, but to spill out a tune
with no words.
Perhaps they'll mean something soon.

I am humming a song so I can fill in the quiet
of a boring afternoon.
A spliced rhythm, a muddled riot;
the walls listen to my artless croon.

I am humming a song with no words.
A hollow shell echoing, whispering
the beat that repeats in thirds.
Monotony is in full swing.

shot in the dark night
under the moonlight

stars, breathe, stars

i see you in my mind
i want you to be mine

but the stars
that bring us together
are gone and lost
in the sky

i sit on a bullet train.
blinking—
trees, roads, houses,
zooming, blurring.
i don't know where to get off.

the doors open.
still i do not leave
my seat by the window,
waving them goodbye.
where do i get off?

am i running towards
the world
or away from it?

i close my eyes,
unhurried,
and wait for
the ride to end.

do you ever
finish doing something so
you think about what to do next,
but you're drawing blanks and
you realize that there's nothing left to do?
You sit there,
and you're thinking
of ways to pass time
but nothing you want to do comes up.
You feel done for the day
but the day isn't over yet,
and this sinking feeling erupts
that makes you feel like you're doing something wrong,
but it's ineffable, so
you do the only thing you can:
watch the clock,
wait for the sky to turn dark,
and then
go to bed and sleep,
because
sleep brings tomorrow,
and tomorrow is certain;
tomorrow you have something to do again.

they tell you,
"you can be anything
you want."

but you wake up
each morning,
and the mirror
greets the same face.

and heavy you sleep,
tied down
to who you are.

there are only two cases:

either something's wrong
with the world we live in,
or something's wrong
with me.

the warmth of the tear
falling on my cheek
scattered light, wandering feet
a shadow in the empty street.

the rise of my chest
staring at the darkness
on my own, still i
feel like i'm home.

the coffee's too bitter
and i'm losing my tether
to the world of dreams
grounding me to reality.
i think i want to sleep but
the coffee's too bitter,
and my mind takes a thought
and runs with it.

i'm feeling it, feeling hopeless
bloom in my chest again.
i think that i don't care for once.
****, sadness won't
let me rest again.
i'll just fail for once.
let me fail for once.

i'm tired but the coffee tastes bitter
on my tongue.
i should be studying but
i'm getting so hung
over my spinning mind.
it feels nice to unwind
when you're so high strung.

i'm falling into this black hole,
and i fear that i don't really mind.
so where's the point,
where's the light dawning down on me?
where's my epiphany?

bitter coffee makes me bitter,
makes me sadder,
makes me think harder
about where i'm supposed to be.

now it's 1 am and i can't sleep.
the ice has melted in the cup.
i'm self-admittedly in love with
the idea of not giving a ****.

You were the sky, and I,
patches of green.

A lone seed long burrowed.
In flight, it quietly dreams.

Now the nights are long and
the months cold,

still I feel your warmth
in my damp home.