1. mind desert
2. unchecked boxes
3. dark circles under red eyes
4. blue light of a blank screen
5. mistook for worship
6. a devil’s carousel
7. silence
8. peeling skin and ripped fingernails
9. deep exhales into thick air
10. thoughts
11. empty pages
12. overflowing kitchen sink
13. clicks of your tongue
14. gotta check those boxes
15.  
16. scroll
17. heavy bags under distant eyes
18. pupils glaze over spilled milk
19.  
20. sink is flooding
21.  
22. ticking hands of a clock wait for not you
23. screen turns off
24.  
25. after hours
26. two months since those pants were last washed
27.  
28. frozen
29. three months since you had a good day
30. another devil’s merry-go-round

deep sighs into thick air

i forgot to —

worship

the boxes drawn in my planner are still —

empty

i forgot the dishes last night my sink might —

overflow

belabored breaths into nothingness

i forgot to —

care

nothing’s there i’m on —

empty

the devil’s mind is an idle playground

or however that goes

i just know it goes

and goes

and goes

like a carousel in a —

playground

idol in a 

playground

monkey bars and slides in a 

playground

bars in a —

playground

i want to sleep

no sighs into stuffy air

just deep breaths

i want to —

sleep

while on my phone because i can’t stop

scrolling

can’t

stop

scrolling

and the sink has over —

flowed

it’s flooding and my pages are still —

empty

my eyes can barely open but i’m not —

sleep

i should

sleep

it’s been two months since i washed my shirt because i’ve been —

sleep

but my eyes can’t close

heavy bags under eyes that can’t close

a devils’ merry-go-round is an idle fantasy

or however that goes

it still goes

the idol goes

and the morning —

goes

and i still need to —

worship

clenching your jaw

like food in your craw

don’t leave that there.

it’ll stain you raw.

with yellow teeth and tears

you hide from your fears

don’t run away from that.

cavities build over the years.

filling up your plate

and questioning your faith

don’t talk like that.

gum disease awaits.

the food was good

and yummy to taste

but they chipped you.

communion was stained.

bread of life was near

but motives were unclear

wrong cup overflowed.

grape juice left a smear. 

their tainted prayers

made you aware

you weren’t accepted.

that your kind should beware.

so the food stays

lingers on your tongue

settles between your teeth

they’ve got the wrong one.

you leave the stains there

the cavities you bear

bloody gums from their stares

i’m sorry they hurt you.

floss like you care

that the food is still there

clean between the lines.

God wasn’t the one who left.

Itchy ears

Can you hear?

I love messing with your skin — cells —

they’re flaky and soft and homey.

Makes me want to build something.

Something flaky and soft and — gooey —

there’s not a lot of space in here.

But I’ll make do in — you —

I’ll make myself a part of you.

Maybe you’ll notice.

Are you hearing me?

I took a ride down your — canal —

the small space filled up quickly.

I’d like to stay a little longer this time

if you’ll let me.

You’re not listening.

You’re trying to kick me out again.

I guess no one told you

not to gift me — cotton —

no, that doesn’t work for me.

Can you hear? Anything?

I got your senses — blocked —

the world around you is muffled.

You pushed me down, littered my home

so I stayed there — hardened —

you didn’t notice.

So I kept your drumset company.

Played with it and — ruptured —

can you hear me now?

Do a little math and you’ll get a number.

Add, subtract, find an answer.

.10 is just .1 it just sounds better.

.10 is just .1 it just sounds better.

We notice numbers that look like more.

1/10 is a little different when you hear it out loud.

1/10 is .10, which is just .1.

Subtract then add, find the answer.

Let’s hope it’s the answer you’re looking for.

What answer are you looking for?

Common denominator forgets it’s common.

Add zeros, it looks like it changes everything.

Add zeros, it’ll change you.

Do a little math and you’ll be a number.

We don’t see people until they look like more.

.10 is just .1 it just sounds better.

He sits at the dining room table.

He cuts it precisely in even rows,

And places the green stuff neatly in the joint paper.

He rolls it carefully,

Licks it, so it stays put,

Twists it at the end,

And brings his BIC lighter close to it for a few seconds enough to spark.

It’s his fix.

He smokes it, and his mood changes.

He’s happier, goofier.

He’s cracking more jokes, he’s smiling more.

His ritual fascinates my prepubescent eyes.

The intricacies, the steps.

I sit on the edge of my tiny twin-sized bed.

I rip a line of paper from one of my empty notebooks.

I roll the paper all the way up until a certain point,

And when I get close to the end,

I lick it, so it could shake.

I finish rolling it

and brought it up to my eyes and moved it right and left.

It’s my shaker.

I talk to it.

I throw it up in the air while running back and forth in the house,

And catch it before it hits the ground.

I roll it in my hands and imagine myself in a different body.

I shake it, and my mood changes.

I’m happier.

More creative.

I’m in music videos and movies and sold-out stages and marrying my celebrity crush.

And then I grow up.

And my mom says

“Stop all that daydreaming!

How much longer are you gonna be shaking that thing?

You’re in high school!

What, are you gonna stop when you get to college?

What about when you get married?”

I look up at her hardened eyes, then back down at the shaker in my hand. 

My magical joint suddenly looked like a limp piece of notebook paper to me. 

I throw it in the garbage can and look up at my dad.

He sits on the couch silently watching, his eyes glisten with numbness and…disappointment.

He leaves the room and goes to the garage.

My mom stopped him from rolling weed in the house,

So I don’t see him at the dining table anymore.

I know he still continues his ritual, though, because his mood changes.

He smiles.

He cracks jokes.

Jokes are easy.

Wood comes to life in the fall.

Wind breathes on it.

Wood responds,

With squeaks and groans and 

Whistles and tones.

Wind stops for a second.

Wood goes silent

Waiting to receive life again.

Wind is there. I know it, because

Wood talks.

Wood tells me stories about Wind as I

Wait in the cabin. 

Wood laughs at 

Wind’s jokes and

Wood cries at

Wind’s memories. I listen to

Wood screech, enraptured in

Wind’s wisps as the goosebumps line my arms. 

Wood comes to life in the fall.

Wind breathes on it.

Wood creaks with glee.

Don’t be yourself around me.

My mind will tear you apart

my eyes will rip your clothes to shreds

my ears will assume every word you speak is a lie

my lips will mumble rebuttals

my head will tilt in disapproval

my eyebrow will raise to intimidate

you’re not safe with me.

Don’t be yourself around me.

I’ll remember all your faults

the wrong things you spew 

the patterns you do

everything that’s wrong with

you.

But be you, boo.

Not true

I will analyze you

until you question you 

until you change you

until there’s nothing left of you 

there will be nothing

left

of 

you.