when the moon
blinked, he saw

me, angry
but not mad. i

have stars under
my tongue.  i
won’t swallow

and my bones
scream to be let out
from under my skin—

they are the fire
on the surface

knocking on hell's gate—
heaven isn't open on sundays

the funeral was
in his bathtub. a single
guest and he wore red

when you died
i turned to him and
then i realised he
wasn’t there
either

when i was ten my sister tried to drown me because
she wanted to cleanse me of my sins. they said she was
schizophrenic but
i think she was right

cough cough inhale
choke sputter foam gargle;
two months and thirteen days,
choke it down. don’t stress it
i had another seizure last night
mix red and white into a pretty pink
go envision a ****** massacre
in your head, but it won’t fix
a single thing now will it?
the mother cries for her son.
sorry for giving you something
i didn’t have

the clock's tick burrows
holes into my skull. the day
goes by too slowly