When the night pours over me
Like mildly heated mustard oil
And I can distinctly hear
The jasmine
Outside my room's door
Every bud snapping in to a flower
The anger is palpable
The hate, not far.
My dead cat puts his forehead to the door
And it creaks, ever so slightly
I wait
I wait
I wait
Dead don't come back.
My several selves
That loved and ached
That moaned and pained
My many faces
Flushed with your thought
My hands with darkened finger tips
That I held to your nose
And you smelled the night on them
That me will always be
seated inside a small box
With a million moths
It is easier
Like a habit you never had
But do now
The price is still the same
Rotting of the flesh of my heart
That's pumping hard
And the raven named WHY
Calls out to the vultures
Diseased and dying bald monstrosities
Perfect in their ugliness
They scorn at the thick blood
That flows from my nose
But they wait nevertheless
To have a taste
And I can hear them
Chanting in a chorus
Louder and louder
We don't fear
What's still alive
What's still alive
We don't tear
I splatter on the roadside
Like dark americano
Exhausted and tired
I lean on the white CP pillars
I flick a lighter, take a drag
Even the vultures won't have me!
I exhale for 8 counts.
In the night
When I am lonely
My bed is crowded
Lifeless bodies pile on me
Choking me to the last breath
The ghosts don't rot
They sear
And mark me
I run through an old house
With rotting doors
Crushing blue eggs underneath me
The birds just shriek and howl
I cover my ears
I know loss
I know loss
That's all I manage to shout.
Artwork By Saoirse Huang
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