one hundred thousand billion


relieving your soul from my heart,

the shopping cart of my lungs is

piercing its metal through the lining.



an entrapment of bars made out of

bone marrow

your irises blink, painting my eyelashes

with the color of rust that’s under

your broken fingernails.



your mug spills and shatters,

the water leaving a puddle of ink

i never asked for.



you bring me closer to home with

every breath

but for some reason i can’t see the oxygen

in the air anymore.



i live in a bubble of my own skin

but somehow you’ve dug your way inside.

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gen z


why am i a poet that can't form words?

an ugly monster that i cover in kisses

a sea serpent with her tail wrapped around my neck

it should hurt the nerves in my esophagus,

the needles in my organs

but i somehow enjoy it



i break my feathers as i force myself

into a bottle

my heart condensing into my head

replacing my brain



i’m shopping for a version of myself i can’t even buy

while people congratulate the calluses

on my hands

i scream at the calluses on my heart.

 

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