My grandfather killed himself using rerun
shows and his nephew's mullet, an egg
stuttering across        a parking lot segway
a mass suicide by the binders on a pill
tearing apart         I snapped the zipper on
my favorite hoodie that I lost my virginity
in, my favorite thing is findings 20 dollar bills
that I stored in the empty battery compartment
of my alarm clock,

a teacup filled with blood and sawdust

I was building walls through the middle of the sahara using only cardboard, scotch tape, and bulldozers, when I got bored and decided my time was better spent looking up flowers on the internet that I would never see firsthand

I realized then how I wanted to be someone to follow so I bought an ant farm at Miller's Corner Store, and set them free but not without first covering my whole body in honey and letting it seep through my skin to sweeten my heart

I put the queen in my left shirt pocket

They say it takes 13 days to form a habit. That's
how long it's been since I threw my heart into a
box of condoms. I called upon the ghost of my
reincarnation. He bought me flowers and thanked
me for my patients. I drove my car into the hospital
to find a regular doctor. One that won't sew my eyes
together. I need to stop taking benadryl, it ***** with
my emotions. I've decided to put things into the holes
in my apparition. I'll wear a ****** whenever I feel
like it. I don't take orders,

                                              I don't need your permission.

This is a poem about ***. I am a strong and beautiful creature. I'll buy presents for all my friends. The sand is to bed and sheets are to ocean.  I call myself unclean. I take another pill I find under the cushion of my neighbor's sofa. I play the violin in a dream. It started because I learned I was in love with you. I memorized the waves of your contours. I call up all my exes and leave voicemails on their answering machines. I'll break things into perfections.

I call myself unforgiven.

In the evening I will open a store
that sells shadows, to compliment the dying
of the day.

My first customer will be a man who
drowns himself in holy water, who buys his
dreams secondhand.

Dream analysis is useless on this one,
the metaphors are cheap and only relevant
to their original owners.

Instead of swallowing magic he will swallow
his own fears, he buys a shadow that will hide
his form completely, he stands in the center of the
stage, and with a flash and a bang he disappears.