i think there is something
wrong with me
yes, i know you found nothing
in my results but
i am indigo pale in the sun
the river that flowed in between
the cracks of my spine
has ran its water out
and i carry
clouds heavy with depression
tar-like, and beating my chest
plummeting me
to the depths, the depths
of sorrow i felt five years back
and i’m telling you, doc
i don’t think i am meant
to feel this much

i think
there is nothing
better than
agate blue
quiet stillness
earth is a
faraway thought
i am already empty
my volume
should be
water instead
of my blood

i return to the shore every night
the waves in indigo shades
i bury my feet in the sand
i am exhausted with my heart

the night makes a quiet friend
she is the cold fog and a starless sky
i swim past the ivory coral reefs
i am exhausted by my heart

the hurt settles on the ocean floor
it feeds the algae floating by
i drown to make sense everything
i am exhausted for my heart

in soft hours when your heart’s
awake dreaming
and you feel a soft whisper
gently tracing
your skin, your spine to your soul
that’s me loving
you

with forceps and scissors
i open myself up
i incise parts of you
still lingering around
the sharp cuts are
methodical, swift -
the poetry is
messy, unrhymed.
with every snip,
i can feel you
leave me
in my lonesome
tiny, quiet life.
it makes me sad,
it makes me happy,
it makes me angry,
and then
i feel nothing
at all.
this apathy, i think
scares me
the most -
have i given you
everything,
after all?
i put this thought
back inside,
i slowly stitch myself
back,
seven of them
holding me together.
if it were possible,
i would like to sleep
for a long time.

goodness is not
an inherited trait
we were born to
learn violence
the soft animal
that breathes inside
hungers for the
clawing, the blood

goodness is not
an inherited trait
devoid of all emotions
we choose to survive
it might be a knife
to the back
or a bullet
in between eyes
but we all will choose
certain certainty

goodness is not
an inherited trait
we are awake at night
because
we close our eyes
when we get
too close to
the sun

they have taken my words
and minced them up
in front of me
this is a familiar hell
this oubliette, this hole
this ******* landfill
of words and words and
words have
lost meaning, lost color
as little by little
i am pulverized
to grain, to salt, to dust
over and over again
over and over again
over and over again