Alighting on a night illuminated by the moon,
With air so hot and heavy you could slice it with a spoon,
They perched on a precarious branch and barely moved a leaf;
The angel peered inside my head and poured in all the grief.
They sank a toe into the depth and found it rather cold,
So warmed it up by stirring up some lies I never told.
The angel, sitting on my skull, was wading ankle-deep;
They sank the stars into the sea to see how I would weep.
They painted eyes onto the shadows just to see me start,
And then, because they could, they hung a weight upon my heart.
The angel counted every breath by dancing on my chest,
And hit me with their arrows every time I tried to rest.
When I was drowning in my eyes and deathly still and numb,
The angel left as quietly and quickly as they'd come.

Seeking out the strongest signal,
All my mind is radio static.
Though I have no holy hymnal
Shouldn’t this be automatic?
Some say you are wind and water,
Some say you reside in Rome.
But I knock, and get no answer;
God, are you not home?

i could catch up with campus news
or criticise this prose,
but all i really wanna do's
lie down and decompose.
i didn't even do the SET,
no preenlistment run;
how am i this exhausted when
i've still got nothing done?
and yes, it makes the flowers grow
to think of what i can,
but looking at my acads now
i don't see much to stan.

teacher, show us how to open our palm;
show us how to serve with you
to give to each according to their need
without expecting anything from you;
to struggle with our neighbour and not mind
what sufferings we must endure;
to ever toil without searching
for comfort in recompense;
to hope without expecting;
content in knowing
we are doing your will

let evening settle into night,
let dawn unfold to day;
let me remain the anchorite
the world has tucked away

each battle has her casualties
and i am one of those,
the difference is the art of death
that heaven for me chose:
the world is cruel and hasty, so
i left it to forget;
i let the world be kind enough
to be my oubliette

i knew that on the day i died
the world would still go on —
they never noticed i was there,
nor that i'd even gone.
i left before those *******
made a misanthrope of me,
and let my body fallow so
my spirit could be free

with nothing but myself and god,
contentedly immured,
i pass my days in prayer and praise
in union with the lord.
there is no sweeter bread or wine
to tempt me from my cell,
so let me rot in limbo while
the world goes all to hell

let others be the prophets!
that is not the role i play
let me remain the anchorite
the world has tucked away

may your exhales smell like baby's breath,
may your bedbugs die a painful death,
may signals strong as storm-struck waves
serve you all your days

may your freezers be ever full of ice
may your magazines be free of mice
may all the good things come in spades
when you play video games

may nothing be lost in your room
may april showers make you bloom
may heaven hear you when you pray
your migraines go away

and when — not if — i'm left bereft
then may your memory hold heft
inside my heart, where it shall stay
if you will that it may

Twenty-two inch night shift screen, as yellow as the moon,
Bedroom midi keyboard typist tapping out a tune.
Headphones cancel noises I do not have funds to nix;
Before the piper pays, I gotta fix the final mix.

Tempest on the tabletop, and dishes in the sink;
Got no time to wipe them down; I need the time to sync.
Pinging pile of notifs on the lockscreen left on read;
Empty fridge and cabinets; I gotta get that bread.