are you still blind?
you'd run into a pole with your eyes closed and call that poetry

sls

four hours of sleep
three days of fluffy frills, lace, and cat ears
four days of flannels and dark eyeliner
five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes of good music

how to create a me
but you wont want to.

side effects include:
depression
anxiety
isolation
manipulation

is it worth it?

I cannot sleep, for I'm nursing a sheep,
A coughing, sputtering lamb;
I cannot rest, for I'm doing my best
My medicinal best that I can.

Mama was young, and she knew no demands
For how to care, it was told;
Mama was scared, and she left them to stand
And to freeze in the shuddering cold.

Baby girl died, it was frosty and bleak
Under that black food bowl she lay;
Baby girl died, she was so unique
The size of a child's shoe, she bayed.

So here I sit nursing a poor coughing lamb,
Here I sit nursing a sick deathly man,
Here I sit hoping-just maybe- he'll live,
Futilely promising my life for his.

I skirt the edges of humanity,
a lone wolf, incalculable
in silent black dresses that flutter
and colossal ideas that squirm,
yearning to see themselves
reflected back in the moonlight.

You shift on my horizons,
a quiet place amidst the swell
of violent noise and clenched teeth,
and something in you keeps
drawing me back- a magnetism.
I walk amongst your leaves,
feel your scattered light,
and it is calm. It is home.

You see me, not the smiling
daguerreotype that I paste up,
but deeper- inky black and serpentine,
with feelings that swell
and burst like balloons.

We tread lightly over the bones
of things we've left unsaid,
our eyes reflecting mirror images
of words that swim and satiate
this primal thirst, a spark
of unconventional
connectivity.