StarlightComet

it implodes on the walls of your skull and slides, sickly off your tongue like the body of a slug. when it hits the floor it is not quiet, not heavy nor dull but sharp as a slap and totters out of the room suddenly, they are disgusting and you are ill. there is no more room for regret, washed away by the slime coming out of your pores. the fault is yours

I want to tell her the things I'll tell her when she’s older, but the information terrifies her. In order of importance: she has luna moths in her head, monarch butterflies in her stomach, and a feral fetus in her womb. Her hands are collapse-clasped and folded in her lap; she holds her elbows like wings away from her ribs, ready to flap, to flutter, to fly. I want to tell her to keep one hand in her purse so she can always find her keys, to keep an eye on the door and the door always open so she can run if she doesn't feel safe, but her cheeks are rorschach-splotch red and the tension in her shoulders warns me she's not ready to hea

tell me the secret of dreaming - i need to know the way to wish on stars that fall, and those that don't, assisting in the making of a tomorrow laced with wonder. stud the sky with folded cranes on wire and origami dreams strung up like beads; when the night creeps up and i can't breathe, tell me it's okay to believe in wishes that can be folded as easily as paper. remind me of how daylight comes even if our star-peppered eyes don't close to hide it's light; we will not stop to count our sheep, but rather wonders found in waking. lace the sunset with your silhouette; i am a paper boat folded by finicky hands cast into deep waters trying

sublet space to sleep in hades' basement, not death incarnate but certainly death-adjacent. cough up a fragrance, myrrh and a hint of tang scent; kick in the backdoor, devils raiding my place, shit. guess i'm debased. siren song, i'm dead in the water styx fuckin' icarus surrounded by feathers and used glow sticks. sputter my name in bubbles and letter glyphs the trouble is no breath, just sunken marauder limbs. throwing up hands. choke on the finger, lingering in the storm drain. crypt keepers laughing, a murder of ravens quoth flame. surface again to be roasted among the most lame, and after i've passed they smear me over the doorframe.

steadies herself with one hand on last week's bloodstains, dull rust with new wound's offering mix. she sways, hand to temple, tucks her hair back, spits. she hates this dining room, especially its spin. breathes deep, tries to focus on her tattooed ankle. if that compass rose spoke, would she claim to heed? sophie told her it was stupid, but sophie cut herself on a bag of chips so who is smarter? when sophie laughed at her, she blushed such a deep shade. red, red, left on read. sophie left for college six weeks ago. how many weeks did she have left? feels her thoughts drifting, chest tightens, teeth grit. moves slowly to the kitchen, finds

broken bottle of candor, here in the agony of evening we slander our past. it's a pattern of abuses, a wildfire of nooses slipped out of at the last moment, of rags screaming into the night in a fiery rage. there are no cages that can curse us, no way to worsen our stance. bones shattered grow back to be fortresses and you should believe that my middle finger is an obelisk to god. throw a dollar on the counter, throw up just a bit but swallow it. history returns with gross perspective; i might learn if not for blacking out. if it weren't for you i'd never make it home. i have passed the gutter that you found me in more times than i can mu

i feel it change, the core of what i said i was worth. i cough and keep to myself the brief appearance of smoke. there must be fire, but i cannot discern if it is history burning or entire populations being written off the earth. i feel it mutate and shudder, my marrow gathers in clusters and spikes, puncturing tissue with lies. lumbering through a desert with new ventilation; light enters the wound and i take it with a silo of salt. i would not have hesitated to cut me down to the stalk. i feel no change; i am a danger to my surroundings, i am patiently drowning out every star. choke up a couple of pixels, gaussian. blame it on being toxic

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