today we’re marvelling at
sunlight bouncing off of bricks,
children playing ball,
the special days we’ve lived

tomorrow we’ll go back to our lives
that look alike when looked at
from this bench we’re sitting on,
to whoever is looking on


the better way to bleed

in a fit of rage tonight
she smashes glass
her face staring back
from every bloodied shard

that would definitely be
the better alternative
to waking life — to trickling
her insides out on command

work in progress

today i threw away food
from someone else’s table

they’d stepped away for a bit
back in another minute

walking away, I grated my teeth
to stop feeling about it

I thought maybe the book would help
but it’s the same all over again

(writing prompt)


have you ever felt
the grand performance lapsing?

like a towel being wrung out
but still soaking wet

unmoored from familiar life
floating in a different space

while others go on watching
now interested in the goings-on, now distracted by something else

(writing prompt)