it’s so hard to be
good in this world
it’s frightening
i wake up most days
with my head underwater
tapping at the glass, breathing in salt––
am I the only one?

i smile at others’ wretchedness
the pinks of their hearts covered in black,
blackest of evils, horrors, charred by their delights
it’s my demise
to associate with their widening eyes
and deep, disgusting laughs.

foulness means nothing to them––
for how does a candle burn
whose wick has been tampered?
you can light it and light it
but your fingers will burn, burn, burn
lest your fuel runs out.


Same Ornaments

Just put those same ornaments up
as last year.
It’s Christmas
in the country
where nobody’s
You’ve got them all
stored away;
it’s opening,
Your time’s wasted in reminiscence,
of how time gently ages
all that you love,
and its suffering,
to dwell on the past
when the world’s still