My little brother cuts himself
And I wonder about the scars

Imagine that they are more like
the lines inside the trunk of a fallen tree
An indication of how long he has lived
or how fast he grew

and time is a funny thing now
Because it is easy to forget how old he is
because of how old he looks
and on the inside
who knows

I just think of counting rings
on a fallen tree stump
like a warped record

after the day grows quiet
if I placed a needle to the wood
What song would it play?

Bitter cacophony, a swarm of raucous screeches
scratching against the infinite sides
of the sleeping labyrinth
desperate to be heard, to be known.
Climbing upon one another
using ladders made of lies.
Locust-like in movement
unite and disperse in detestable symphony
lazy and hollow
harrowing torment.
Shut away in a little box
and scattered amongst the open
universe of the ethereal untouched.
Never to be noticed.

Two places at once
Factories and farms
You conquered my city
With aid and with harm

Two places at once
How I wish I could be
Got over the night before
With champagne and herbal tea

Two places at once
Churches and dives
I conquered your city
To my great surprise

Two places at once
How I wish you could be
Right by my side
Not just a memory