Pour a tragedy into
my hand and allow the
novelty to drench my fingers
and seep my skin. I'm
jealous of my age yesterday
and the person
who I might be tomorrow.
What a baffling existence we lead every
morning after the awe of
the sunrise
has dissipated.

When
the world outside my
window looks like a charcoal smudge
on the back of my fist, I think
of the uncoiling stillness bleeding
in and out of me with each breath. I'm wholeheartedly
in love with
thoughtless first times, but
I'd rather burn a bad first
draft and recklessly risk scorching
my fingers
instead.

I burn my tongue on coffee every
morning and shiver myself to sleep.
But one thing I learned today
is that a colorless existence is normal
for most people
until you have the courage
to spill a little blood
and believe that red is
the most beautiful color.