there is a fire hydrant
a few meters away from my car
it screams fire like it saw everything
like a child playing seek with me
and hide in a corner above the clouds
and hid there for a thousand nights
and I scream and scream, but nothing creeps
but the emptiness in the shape
of a frat child's school drawing
locking the suitcases, going to places
but it's like the spring of the coldest
where my eyes hover on your shoes
maybe my autism for I never took that test
But I snap to the pretentious smile I give
as it breaks like crumbling bridges
over dead breeze and dying waters
there is a knife
a few meters away from me
a particular joke I must always make
about knife, and the art of self-worth
a knife so distant once that only the moon
hit her twice a month, her soft and gleaming glow
her unwavering, free ecstasy on a Monday
coming from an angle, so inclined it feels illegal
"but nothing is illegal in love", the knife said
the moon changed its angle, on a Tuesday
and the knife died by cutting himself
there is nothing
a few meters from me