My purple sunrise is deeper than yours
I dream in the cracks you cover with clay
the black in my pupils holds in more light
but your bleached white walls lead to my decay.

My grass is thicker,
my blue is stronger
when I eat from the fruit there's more teeth in my bite.
Can you taste the juice?
Feel it dribble down your shirt?
That's the stream in my forest
by my carpet of dirt.

It's written in ink
smeared, still legible
that I hold a soul within these bars of bone
light and soft like cooling butter

It's fierce, and it sings, and doesn't understand
the reasons for pain in this drying, Eden-land.