A cardboard box to place all your hearts into.
Squander the pretty things.
Cut everything into small shapes and pray
for grey clouds, rain clouds, secondhand smoke.
Something has to be destroyed again.
It is a season not for harvest,
but to gaze at something empty, cold,
and left in waste, helpless.
The side of the head collapses inward.
Bone snaps and the breath is so short
it would make you wonder if it happened at all.
It would amaze you how you have hurt others.
Like a pyramid in selfishness;
the Niagara Falls made in barbed wire
and infested with small biting insects.
You had to teach yourself, and it wasn't hard.
You taught yourself how to hate, but more so;
How to hate everything you know, to-
find flaw?- in everything you hold close to-
Hallelujah.
Angels with eyes eyes sewn shut, monsters,
monsters with white wings, feathered.
Flying. ****, I want more dreams of flying,
or even another dream of falling.
Always awake. Circles nourished by your
happiness are well fed under your eyes.
You are not.
You are not
falling or flying,
&
never in my life have they felt so similar.
So much the same.
