Daunting voice, you possess
Dressed the ghost in pasty bed sheets
Bleeding lips, livid soul
I must get out; I mustn't feel like this

Clouds of grey infection
Cough echoed hallways
As ripe as a golden apple
That rests in the palm of your hand

Shrieking imagery, but
Always safely hidden
400 thread count sheets, and
Hands made of silver

The sky is speckled with
Cheap glitter again.
Fingernails stained yellow
Eyes complying with gravity

Alleviate; please be serine, lovely
I almost neglected to recall
Yellow grass between toes;
Fallen trees forming obstacles

Lips on skin
Thighs and torso
Walls and doors
Breeze in windows

“I’m madly in love with you”

…

“Some people feel like they don’t deserve love”