i yawn. my curling of breath
settles into the texture of
sails in my throat, stretching
in the wind of my morning. it
hurts to breathe, and i
effortlessly deluge cool
molecules of clear to depths
never seen, but trusted to
exist. believed in from
insistence.
it is winter and the windows
are crying on the inside.
-
the days blur together and the
days fade away
they interrupt a streaming
thought, a series of the same
interactions
changing only
minutely. speak up,
take notice.
every day is still
another day.
-
i do not enjoy sunsets; the way
the sun dips its hands into
the ocean, douses the flames
of his face before bed. brushes
his teeth, checks his breath, turns
the lights off in his celestial bathroom.
because they are not with you.
-
along the fault
lines of my
fingers
the earth cracks
open
and lava
comes
pouring out
like blood.
-
the crescent moon is a tear drop,
clinging to the side of a face
its eyes are hidden behind its back
i cannot see the man crying
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