Perhaps I'll move to the cardboard box
that sits under the stairs.
I'll say I found a new apartment,
one at no expense.
I'll have my own aerosphere
3rd-class postage stamps,
punched into my knees.
I'll get to know the gloves and folds
that package at my skin-
let the corners of the box
soften into different shapes
and alleviate my fears.

Oh sun-
Kiss down on my
Dulcet lips
And give your rays of warmth,
So that I may drool
Yellow from my mouth.
Let my insides be a raging fire and
Break my skin to an amber glow.
Oh sun-
Beam your healing rays of blonde
And let me turn to gold.

I saw the light, but I swear,
It flashed between my eyes.
This tunnel I walk blindly
Being hit a hundred times.

My skin I tear and tear,
To find the light once more
But all I get is nothing,
But blood and flesh and gore.