Father in bag
suffocate the senses smell decrescendo of hair
burned with the irons so I could be perfect
Am I- here

In libido in limbo my favorite
games are the ones thought of at night when
in room he intrudes I don’t wanna
talk
I am

Skin picking is a pass-time goes well with
block outs -sunlight is not seen now-
Expectations my
reactions should be natural I want to be in every right spot

Fall exists then exits but wind has to blow –first when
natures tells you to leave so you make love with winter
you lick snowflakes
snow angels are for kids.