always burning,
because my eyes roll back into my head
when i see you.
always tasting,
because my mouth tastes like bitter cinnamon.
always blind,
because the magenta of sunrays
filters through my retina &
dapples my brain.
white eyes, ****** nails,
always grasping,
because everything is silent underwater.

the debris, the smoke,
could make me choke,
but the sparks could never reach me.

glitter skin
& rainbow lashes,
a million smiles
have turned to ashes.

i take too much medicine
during the day
so while i'm sleeping
nightmares come to toy with
my fragile subconscious
& i crack like a
wooden puppet
when it's strings are snipped.

it's like watching
a black & white film
& all of a sudden,
it turns to color.
prisms twirl in your eyes,
& gasps escape from
your mouth like thick
serpents crawling
through your teeth.

flies buzz everywhere
in a place where i could always
count on the walls being clean.

paranoia is a repulsive,
monstrous, sluggish thing,
that creeps through your brain
cutting off everything you know
in order to leave you
discarded & ***** with
nothing.

the balance between
pleasing a new guest
who will be staying for a while
& pleasing someone who
has lived here for years
is a hard one
to stabilize.

i look into the glass bottle
that holds my ibuprofen
to pass my time
because the pills are blue
& translucent
& glassy
& it makes me feel like
i'm staring into the sea.

her hair is knotted
after a good night's sleep.
his eyes are red
because he can't control
his insomnia.
she drinks a cup of weak coffee,
sitting by the window
in her favorite dress,
the pink sunlight streaming in
through yellow-stained glass.
he walks in, makes himself
a cup of too-strong tea,
and waits.

she does not know what to do.
he feels lucky to be there.
i am standing
on the edge of the precipice,
closing my chocolate eyes,
the convoluted orb
shining orange
through my golden eyelids;
monsters are
swimming in trees below.

my lungs start to wheeze,
my breath is a tease.

K's room is too hot,
W's room is too cold,
A's room is too smelly,
M's room is too beige.
nothing is right.

i feel like i don't belong here
the totem pole is turning from
candy red to blood crimson
i am tired.
sunshine yellow to disease ocre
i am sick.
ocean blue to empty cerulean
faces of guardians turning
to demons, splintering
i am DEAD.

i am not myself
here.

amber lips are
getting too red.
the cat's eyes are
getting too cloudy.
the scratches
in the wood paneling
are getting too deep
& the church bell
that you can hear
from the mountains
is getting too loud.
the stack of pillows on
my desk chair is
about to fall over,
& the neighbors
are getting too high.
the molding
is getting too cracked.
the paint is
getting too faded
& my screams
are getting too quiet.

i thought of you
when i was trying to pour
fertilizer into that
little red cranker
that we leave by the gate
& i spilled half of it
onto the ground.

the only reason i know
is because one time,
my best friend
who is also your best friend
(we do have a lot
in common)
went to a concert with me
& asked to be dropped off at
your house.
your big, nice,
well-landscaped house.

when your best friend
started liking me,
& i liked him back,
i went to his house all the time
his small,
untidy,
noisy,
uncomfortable house.

now i feel myself thinking about you
when i'm spending too many seconds
fertilizing my small lawn
in front of my own
cozy, familiar, warm
but suddenly empty
house

& i find myself wishing
i could stand in front of our house
hand-in-hand
with you