on that rooftop
i looked into the distance
and wondered why i couldn't see

i wondered
why the world stops.

but i realized
if you fly,

the world never stops.

There are bones in the wood;
cracking, groaning, shattering.
The skeleton of what could
Have
            Been

There are bones in the wood;
whistling, wailing, whispering.
The skeleton is not pure—not good
It
            Still
                        Has
           ­                         Flesh

red

can be anger
                                                           ­                                             can be love
can be scathing
                                                        ­                                          can be passion
can be warning
                                                         ­                                      can be warming


it is the color of blood
                                                           ­                             it is the color of love

He lurked in the darkest corners
And watched as the golden color of her halo
Faded away into nothingness

The girl realized there was no hope and her innocent thoughts turned evil. It was in that moment she noticed that life had no loopholes, no doors to exit from.

He begged and tried to get her to stay but he simply could not get the message across.

Silent tears and sobs wracked through his body as he watched the girl.

He watched her curl up.
He watched her scream at the world.
He watched her stand up.
He watched her fall down.

Again.

Again.

And again.

And then one day, he watched her jump.

In that moment, he swore he saw her halo glow again.

Mother.
My laugh is starting to
Sound like yours?

the words fell softly upon her skin
whether good or bad
that’s a mercy
only a touch could bring

they floated gently,
a caress.

she is numb to the pain

warm
you are so
warm
in my memory
warm
warm
warm on me
warm on my skin
in my memory
your blood is
warm

Soak it up,
buttercup!

It's all you're good for.

Dry,
and you die.

chilling wind
on a grim night

a single shadow
hovers over a light

oh to be such a glow
at the hands of such blight

she’s now only a soul
adds to the death toll

reap her,
Reaper.

i'll learn every constellation
to remember your eyes

for the flush upon your face
take a picture of the sky
every sunrise

i'll fall asleep in my coffee
just to see you in my dream

please-
please let me see-
please i want to see-

are you ready?
look around—
see the birds fly in formation?
(watch them close)
back and forth
back and forth
all on the word
of the forward bird

(a bird falls)

are you scared?
listen up—
hear the roar of the wind?
(the drum of rebellion)
feel it in your chest?
your heart?
your soul?

(get ready)

so now you're ready?
chin up—
you smell the salt?
(the tears?)
you feel the pressure?
you taste the pain?

are you ready?

Do not shine light
upon the mirror at night.

Do not peer
into its murky depths,
for you will rouse the Thing
that placidly watches
from the other side.

The Thing that peers
so curiously,
glinting,
taunting,
wishing you would wake it.

Do not look
when it waves.
Do not speak
when it taps.

Do not rouse the Thing.
Do not touch
the glass.

it sounds like fuzz
since you've left
it's almost funny

everything sounds fuzzy
and my soul grows frantic
all i can hear is the fuzzing

i wonder if you can describe the silence too,

i track the time
with each branch that grows
on the tree you planted
all those years ago

it was on a whim
you let the seed drop
"i'm here forever"
and yet, you're not

i track the time
with each leaf that sprouts
i'm here forever
i'll watch you, sprout

Often, I find a rift—
where snow and ash entangle and blanket as if to comfort,
despite their sting.
They are to each other as the goby fish clings to its home
and a forsaken child howls to their mother.
Single-sided symbiosis.
A parasite.
—
Often, I find a rift—
a place where lie the imperfections from our perspective,
the kind that create eternal suffering,
lest we find peace within.
This peace is not passive acceptance,
but active understanding:
that each rift does not mirror another.
It mirrors oneself.

Ready, aim…and fire!
            Chatter and laughter and explosions in the sky,
            Our youth burned out—then rose the mourning choir…
Ready? Aim and fire…
            We cling to wartime needs and the will to survive to acquire
            A win against the adversary, and not die.
Ready, aim, and fire.
            Chatter and laughter and explosions in the sky.

A cold like no other,
in the freezer aisle.

My hands are shaking.

Looking at ice cream we won't get,
retracing fading smiley faces
fogged on frosty glass,
in the freezer aisle.

My body is blue.

Cold to the bone,
Mom puts me back in the cart.

Morning birds coax the raised words carved into my palm.
But carved is too gentle—
they were hacked,
the way an angry butcher cleaves a spoiled pig in place of his darling wife.

PRAISE HIM.

Praise who?

PRAISE HIM.

I will.
I do.
Every hour, on the hour:
PRAISE HIM.

Crimson blood drips,
yet it runs as slowly as it can,
for I still must
PRAISE HIM.

To resist is a sin.
To stop would be unforgivable.

So every hour, on the hour,
I must
PRAISE HIM.

The painting is blurred
Shades of color
Speak to me
Call to me
“Look at me”

My eyes are open
Yet I can’t see
The shades of color
Directing me
Warning me
Protecting me

My eyes are open,
The painting is blurred

The rope runs
Over my wrists
Soft like
Silk
Heavy like
The sun

It’s tied me down
To a flimsy little post
That wouldn't hold
Even a feather

Of the bird
That so desperately
Tries and tries and tries
To fly away

A line, fractured clean—
I stare.

How
Can this mirror be so mean?

Shards of truth,
Slicing my skin,

Oh, what I’d do
To see me whole again

You reek of smoke and heartbreak.

There is a forest fire raging in your gaze
that I cannot extinguish with mine.

It can be doused, perhaps—
or smothered
with more eyes and more eyes and more eyes—
but my water pail is filled with Patrón.
I cannot quell it alone.

The thirst in your wildfire eyes
is drying me to leather;
jerky for the vultures.

Maybe they
can quench it.

I am alcohol and lame steak.
You are smoke
and heartbreak.