a poem written at 5 AM - no sleep that night*

seen too many faces
melting into backdrops,
concrete boxes
where gray air
paint lungs gay,
where diamonds
fall too ******
frequently
blurring the windows
of colorless rooms,
tiny rooms,
that suffocate,
garrote
and wash the trees
and the flowers
into frail state,
where the moon
is nothing,
just a ***** coin,
where the dogs
howl and howl,
cry and cry,
in agony,
where everyone
is lost,
them you and me,
lost

Sad Girl, Write Till You Are Righted

Awake to an inbox not overflowing,
But drowned
In sadness.

Despair,
A close second.

Tho oft I rise to/o that awoken-swollen-emaciated river,
Somehow your ache, worse than mine.

I figured out why.

If we write of it,
It some degree lessened.
So when I gift you my words,
It gifts me easement some in return.

But reading thy cries, an exercise,
Teeth-gnashing frustration.
It brings no relief.

So sad girl,
Write till you are righted,
May be it will snow on July 4th,
And tho unnatural,
So is thy grief.

Nonetheless, write me write me all about it,
Right us,
For tho snow falls, its loveliness,
Makes the heart rise up in gladness!

She’s the kind of beautiful that made
Narcissus self-conscious in the first place

She captures the world on film
I capture her on my memory
I wouldn’t mind if I used
all the film I had on her

Her smile tells you it’s OK
To be yourself
Because we all doubt ourselves
Undeservedly

Walking in the night with her is
The most illuminating experience
I’ve never had my own sun
To revolve around

Being her reason to laugh makes me consider
Betrayal to the beauty of silence