my flower’s are about to die
now the sun is falling
sooner & i’m getting
everybody high
because
everybody wants to get high.
november comes fast, every single year. there are always
distractions. i need a certain kind of gasoline to start
the flame inside myself.
my words are a sort of music
which holds it’s own without
a melody or tune to hum:
exhale & your world is enveloped in color. our scars match
up like we’re in unison together. my refrain is tired. chorus
outstretched. she’s waiting for something worth waiting for

tie my bones together with piano wire.