This is a strange heat of cloudy day in october where bathroom stalls are the only place they spread the love.

She wants rain. She covers her school bag with plastic so her books will not be soaked. She believes, soon, it will rain.

She becomes a boy when something inside her bleeds. It is a battle wound. It is what makes her beautiful. It is what makes her want to insert her fingers very slowly into your eyes.

She dies monthly; that is why we celebrate easter every month. The eggs also die, only not in a way you can understand. They cry in trash bin, right before a stray dog comes and carries them with its lovely teeth.

"I only want to kiss you like *******. Let's hold hand and be a cramp. We can hug like contraction or the way a womb would."

It will not rain. She begins to open her umbrellas. She has twenty seven in twelve different patterns.

"I think the dog loves me too."

She gives up. She says she will stay. This is the very bottom of her current lowest. Her eyelids are heavy as iron. They only become heavier and heavier.

"I think i can sing amazing grace."

But she never opens her mouth ever again. She cannot even brush her teeth. And when her jeans are stained with blood, she cries like a baby whose lips are sewn together with rose's thorns.

Her eyelids are now corroded. Glad she has counted all the sheeps. She is going to sleep. A long nap. A sweet, sweet dream. *A sweet, sweet dream.