A nuclear bomb has gone off in my bedroom

Scorching my skin and burning the pages of my diary

My hinges have been loosened and I fall wide open

My face and thoughts are lost

I always held the right combination on narcissism,
skepticism,
and optimism.

Painting my best days in grey and teal

My ears are still ringing, not that it matters,
I was tone deaf to begin with

I punch holes in walls to widen my perspective

I bandage my chest in drawings from your sketchbook
Birds,                                              ­                                                                 ­                               
girls,                                                        ­                                                                 ­   
trees,                                                         ­                                                 
and poetry                                                         ­                       
lend themselves as temporary skin.

Fending off the cold and ash

*“Where the hell am I?”