At least he’s eating lunch today.
Scrambled-egg-sandwich smell of telling me to worry less—
I never do.
“I can’t do anything”
“My mind is gone”
I suppose life is splitting through your bones,
But don’t worry,
Spatula in hand,
waving fates away like flies amongst an endless strain of pain,
He tries to stand
Against the demons eating him
Away.
But hey,
At least he’s eating lunch today.

She left the gate agar
And the sun crept in to steal my time,
Adding the ever-careful wrinkles round my eyes.
Dead strawberries withered with care
And Rainy, ****** skies weighed down  with weeks of meager, longing stares.

Is there more I can hold in the folds of my fingers?
Drip through the cracks, I fumble.
I wish I could see my darkening eyes...
And hear the seeds of my labor
crumble

Today, I am the antithesis of beauty.
I rot at the roots of my hair and I reek of falsified overconfidence.
Today, I have no right answers. I stumble over feelings, cling heavy on each word and fall face first in explanations no one needed.
Today, I walk like lumber. I am doubtful of my passions and my body and my stride.
Today, I am the antithesis of beauty, I deserve to be alone.
I think back so painfully on how light my body traveled, simple traipsing passes of sidewalk lines and inclines I simply mastered.
Today, I stare my own eyes down—
How dare you ever think you had a right to smile? I have to have a **** that everyone can see,
I am a desolate piece of half-self someone alone amongst the sea
Of perfect people and lovely lives.
I spew forth all full of frothing lies to make it seem as though I do not hate the face I gaze with.
Today, I am the antithesis of beauty
And I cannot escape my own painful accusations.

All at once
Or nothing at all—
I’m falling—
Blackhole kind of lovely lines
Cutting cross my angled fists
These endless daunting lists I fill to burn.

The deep-set abhorrence
Of standing alone—
Where is it from?
I stand on dead grass
Staring dead eyes in the face in the glass reflecting off my screen.
I look mean, dead angry eyes and my brows too dark—
I look mean;
mean and alone.
On dead grass in dumb boots
Waiting for too many factors
To change
Before telling myself
To move on.

Slowly...
Slowly slowly creeping up the vine
How many ants will die in my lifetime?
How many crave the sun deep below the earth
And care nothing for the vine the mind is telling them to search?
Grapes grown over
Over over over
Crushing wooden posts and stealing sun from most
My watermelon plants.
How many questions circling uselessly...
And how many ants never get the chance
To see the end
Of a daunting, pointless task.

Fire sparks along the walls of my gut.
Smoke pours from mouth—the cries I tried to release, gone.
Lies lies lies lies and excuses,
there’s a burning in my stomach.
I feel words wither on my tongue
As yours overpower and overwhelm.
Questions asked
About every word.
I’ll set it on fire
I’ll set it all on fire.
Coals to your wisdom,
Embers to your truth.
I’ll set it on fire.
Stop asking me
And doubting me
And lying.
I’ll set it all on fire.