“To Clean Up 8:32 p.m.”

One of                                                               One of

those nights                                                     those moments

it’s only 8:30                                                    it’s been five

when it’s just                                                   hours since I

me and I-don’t-know                                     last saw you

what to play                                                    and I still

or how to be                                                   don’t know

i wasn’t okay                                                  what to play

earlier and now                                             I kind of want

i’m just numb empty                                    you to check on me

that’s unfortunate                                         like you did earlier / sometimes that isn’t enough

numb is a really good word                        but I don’t think I told you that.

“Only Survivor”

My reflection told me that she’d pray for me,

arms crossed and lips in a pout.

I used to hate her.

Now I just feel worn out,

a sputtering candle,

forgoing oxygen for something else.

I’m drifting now.

This is a strange ocean,

filling up the corners of my mind.

There’s nothing worse than wet insulation.

I tried do-it-yourself,

with a hairdryer and some glue.

But there’s no fixing

this affliction

made of

black feathers,

awash in a mess of blue.

“Somebody Else”

A pair of scissors

resting in my palm.

This is a game

of chance.

Because there’s a moment

where I consider,

painting them red.

But I’d soon run out of paint,

so I don’t.

She was asking for it

though I don’t owe her anything.

How bold she was,

standing there with

my face as hers,

dressed in blue.

If this is what dreams are made of,

I must be made of something else.