These aren’t words;
these are the wolves
that clawed their way
out of my chest.

my soul is stuck
in old, coastal towns;
a cup of strong coffee in hand;
i can drown in its taste
mixed with my heartbeat running amok.

the sound of the rain
threatens to deform the roof,
as if the midnight sky
was trying
to read her sadness out loud
to the unmarked graves
beyond my ribs;
as if the raindrops
were prison guards
chasing after my soul,
waiting to cage it
back in place.

the broken clock
tells me it's still midnight,
but for all i know,
it may yet be another
sleepless night kinda
monochromatic daybreak
and

i can no longer tell which is louder —
the storm inside my head
or outside.

she was a supernova
concealed in the synapses
of the cosmic dust.
there,
she incinerated everything
including herself —
she incinerated everything,

especially herself.

And she’ll always feel like she doesn’t belong —
she’s not happy enough,
she’s not sad enough.