A bee
staggers out
    of the peony.

Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die

Autumn moonlight--
  a worm digs silently
    into the chestnut.

dogs eat at the night
buried in the yard
they chase the moon in a pack
the white of their teeth
compared to stars

the windows close against them
iron bars in transparency

life closes against them

the morning will crush them to dust
with only the wind left
to stir them up

I once told you, Miss,
that your poetry is so edgy
that I cut myself on it sometimes.
Well, I've been reading more
and I feel
at a loss for blood.

A wise man once said,
that what starves us carves us
and I have never been anywhere near you,
but I imagine holding you in my arms
would be either the worst or the best experience of my life.

You've got some jagged bits,
but I bet if you put your best part forward,
you could split a man's heart apart
in the best of ways.
Make him think of you for days after,
caught in the rapture of the pain you bring.

If I could capture a joke out of thin air,
I'd find you and give it to you,
just hoping that maybe it might possibly
make you smile.
'Cause ****.
It must be a supernova waiting to happen.
Only the death of stars could live up to such an event.

you wait
to message me

right when i get
                           happy

It's all nameless splendours
and 'return to sender's.
Without the clarity to make sense
and the rarity to be heard,
we are blurred together
like colors on the canvas.
Where I settle in and make my home,
it's insanity and ****** sea foam.
        Straight lines where everything careens
               into smokescreens and blackened eyes.
                       Cruelty in disguise.
                              Lonely demise.
                                Unheard cries
                                   Dark skies.
                                       Lies...
                                          It is here... I make my home.