From blossoms
released
by the moonlight,
from an
aroma of exasperated
love,
steeped in fragrance,
yellowness
drifted from the lemon tree,
and from its planetarium
lemons descended to the earth.

Tender yield!
The coasts,
the markets glowed
with light, with
unrefined gold;
we opened
two halves
of a miracle,
congealed acid
trickled
from the hemispheres
of a star,
the most intense liqueur
of nature,
unique, vivid,
concentrated,
born of the cool, fresh
lemon,
of its fragrant house,
its acid, secret symmetry.

Knives
sliced a small
cathedral
in the lemon,
the concealed apse, opened,
revealed acid stained glass,
drops
oozed topaz,
altars,
cool architecture.

So, when you hold
the hemisphere
of a cut lemon
above your plate,
you spill
a universe of gold,
a
yellow goblet
of miracles,
a fragrant ******
of the earth's breast,
a ray of light that was made fruit,
the minute fire of a planet.

Chapter 1
Beeeep.
My mom checks her phone.
"I just took 37 pills and I'm afraid I'm going to die."

Chapter 2
Everyone always talks about how beautiful night is. In our poems we compare it to love. We compare it to eternity. We compare it to existence. But the darkness scares me. Nighttime terrifies me. I become so alone with my thoughts and there is no escape. I am completely alone. And when i'm alone i tend to do reckless things. My brain; so impulsive. I get drunk, I smoke ****, I have ***. I cut myself. I contemplate the bottle of pills under my bed.  I take the bottle of pills hidden under my bed. I don't cry; no-this isn't real yet. I don't shake. Steady hands. I forget about my family; I am not afraid of dying. Ten down. 27 to go. 16. 11. 8. 2.
I look up. I count to twenty. I feel sick. My sister, comes in. I cry- I cry so hard. I am going to die. I remember my family.
I am afraid.
So I text my mother. I refuse to face her-I won't face her. The shame, the guilt, the disappointment she will have. The anger.  She's going to be so angry.

Chapter 3
My dad storms in my room. So, so, angry. I cry-i'm scared. Not of  dying. I'm scared of my dad. Of my mother. Of their judgement. I walk into their bedroom. Nobody cries. I can feel the hostility. I can feel the anger. Why don't they love me?  "Attention seeker." They say. I cry. I hope I die. I shouldn't have said anything. I should have let them find me, shriveled up like a dried out flower- no pulse no pulse no breathing.
My mother takes me to the ER. My father stays home to sleep. My stomach feels like I have a cancer- a mold growing inside of me.
But I am afraid I will live.

a single dog
walking alone on a hot sidewalk of
summer
appears to have the power
of ten thousand gods.

why is this?