i keep this day sealed away in a glass jar,
like the kind you catch fireflies in as
a kid in midsummer
the heat is just the same,
the light a bit dimmer
there were clouds on my legs and
i crushed raspberries in my hands,
felt the earth’s pulse,
was dizzied by the undulating grass
bad things wouldn’t exist if
we didn’t put them into existence
anything bad was made up,
make-believe,
that’s what we told ourselves,
with our toes in hot sticky mud
it was primal,
green, effortless,
like playtime when you’re young
we squeezed berries
(are they poisonous?)
between our fingers,
bare-backs as canvases and the
juices as paint
the fruit is sweeter when
it’s picked with ***** fingers
the sun balanced itself low
in the sky, and i wondered
who would catch it when
it fell

teeth, hair, skin, face
empty head part-skim part-disgrace
never whole, not creamy
not present, never dreamy
thick-*****, heavy feet
two ends that never meet
cheeks bitten raw, yellow yoke
consuming, expelling, you think she’ll choke
unaware, chugging despair
expired milk washed down with air
she doesn’t see you
she’s not all there
face, skin, hair, teeth
blood and guts concealed beneath
never telling, not regarded
not undone, just life discarded

hi
for the past 3 years ive gone by a made-up name that i penned for myself (shiloh) due to the crippling fear of anyone i know in real life finding my writing and in turn invading the darkest parts of my mind
but ive decided im done hiding
so hi again
my name is caja
and that’s all for now

today i feel everything and nothing all at once
broken memories collect themselves in the pit of my stomach
spilling out between the gaps in my ribcage
leaking through the spaces like morning light through shutters left wide open
today i feel distant
today i feel lost
today i feel like the ground pushes against my feet
hot summer concrete branding its heat into the calloused soles of my feet
my imaginary feet
for i am everywhere and nowhere all at once
i exist in places that don’t exist
my metaphysical body breaks itself into pieces and spreads itself across vast scapes of nothing
searching for thoughts that i cannot reach
my bones position themselves between pages within forgotten bookshelves
my nonexistent bones
i run out of air more times than my lungs can inflate and deflate like round balloons
i run out of words more often than my invisible body solidifies and melts again in the undoing of my defeated mind
beaten with sticks
disfigured by rocks
diminished by mephitic smoke
the malodorous devil
entering my mythical body through any empty space it finds
cutting me open and flaying my brain into two broken halves
the right holds my desolation while the left cradles my emptiness
and perhaps it is this split within my body that rejects my will for omnipotence
and offers me defeat in a package tied with string
perhaps it is that this will does not exist
my fabled body deminishing itself into ashes spread across the universe
perhaps it is that i am not everywhere
and i am not nowhere
i am here
and i do not feel a thing

miles of endless restlessness and hands tied together with string
(like delicate handcuffs with a summer-orange scent)
hiding within fields of oxeye daisies where lips hold yearning like a mosquito's bloodlust for a certain syrupy red wine that's held in containers of flesh and bone
the proboscis breaks the surface like an embroidery needle and the sting is sewn to the skin like round buttons on soft cotton tops
as they drink from the holy bodies sunk deep in cool soil kissed by pious rays of lucent starlight
and we itch from an insect's touch and a lover's kiss

(i only dream of imps)
sweaty, high-handed, they reek of brandy
although i know what they desire i bury my fists in stiff pockets
all the simple things i believe to be made up of are really technicolor and abstruse
(i only dream of this)
every night they spit viruses down my throat
bite jibes in my deepest cushiony parts
chew gold rings like stale cheerios
swathing me
in sticky mud-like paint
thin and sour
(i only dream of hell)
grafted unholiness in pits of ink
tumultuous
sore heat seething from flowery bits
greedy imp hands handling soft pillow bodies
acid breath inflating pink fleshy lungs like round dollar store balloons
(i rarely dream of clouds)
when i do they are rotting clumps of loose soil
left untended by my perverse imps
holding petals to their fever pitted cores
redressing me in noxious defamation
(i'll dream again soon)

im waiting for you in the attic and you'd find it strange but
im tracing your name in the dust on the floorboards
and wearing my father's old letter jacket
and thinking about the night when you tied the thread around my finger and told me red is a reminder of your love
so when you left i pulled at the strings until my fingernail turned white
and willed for color to spill