sometimes
i see Rain in my bedroom,
when the light becomes Bruised and Jaded.
and my eyes are too tired to shut.
pelting the Grey,
leaving Ruts in my irises.
sometimes
traffic Sleeps,
when i’m too late to Matter,
and lawnmowers shave my skull
then track along,
up and down my Spine.
sometimes
i watch the walls Pulse,
arm extended,
pale white and Veined with Envy–
midnight puncture wounds,
shooting up Ink and Seventies Rock hits.
sometimes
i remember my dreams,
while people sit on my chest,
hold my arms–
Liquid-Metal Eyes–
and won’t let me up for air.
sometimes
i speak Volcanoes,
and my Insides are scorched;
while the Walls Whisper,
shooting lies,
Peeling at the Base
sometimes
flowers Grow in the dark,
drinking up moonlight
and Eraser shavings.
they are born Ancient
and look like Hieroglyphs.
sometimes
i am Damned.
textbooks Crook my back
and teeth pile into my Hands.
so i Lock away my Eyes
and write “Yes” on her fingers
as she counts them,
one…
two…
three…
four…
Seventy Times Seven
and now she has none to spare
but,
Sometimes,
i keep writing
