day 26; this devil called shame
In every white morning
there is pain lying in wait.
It seeps in and out of the window frames,
soaks
day 25; closer still
Pay attention to the trees.
Look at them—closely, closer—
savor how full the branch,
how lush the leaf
whose
day 24; marlboro
Fluttering—
a sultry smoke
flies invisible
between the white morning
and the loud dream.
Oh! how empty and soft,
when
day 23; what beauty of wind & away
Some trudge for years
beneath barren forests
yet barely recall the
sky-aching daylight.
All that time they
cry, “The world
day 22; the hidden life of trees
Down in the hollow
where daily we spilt our loneliness,
there the trees exampled for us,
planted by the stream:
day 21; chained to sleep
Chained to sleep, a black garden chases me.
Whisper-light music echoes cold in the undergrowth,
and my throat is in
day 20; the unlife of a zombie
Brains. Yes, I seek—
I need brains. To
fill my empty one.
I can’t think (therefore
am I?) but
day 19; insanity
is just a
word
maniacs use for
those that make no
progress. Stuck in
their spiral, their
tick, their depression.
day 18; miss dickinson
If Emily taught me anything,
it is that I have
no boundaries. Here,
I am moon. I am
never-stilling sky.
day 17; insomnia
My soul is dying
a little bit everyday.
The edges of me
have rounded as well-ground river stone,
my intricacies