her voice is cream over
coffee, made unbitter
carefully palatable
eyes, twin snake-bites
the most unfortunate of
harsh beauties

do not touch
do not feed

her teeth are the greediness
of bear traps,
she is lonely enough
to never let go.

six months


I throw myself at
inhabit turtle shell
back alleyway
sleep for 13 hours a night
lose my ability
for metaphors
quit writing
quit singing
quit college
I take on mannerisms
that would make my former self
look like a
bellowing lumberjack
I know it threw you
to watch a butterfly
devolve into
a caterpillar again
reverse Darwinism
disappearing wings
star turned black hole
my writing is VERY sub par lately but I will work on that.  It’s like learning how to breathe again.  Not that I can remember the first time I learned how to breathe.  anyways I lost six months due to … well.  I did not write this during those six months but to be honest I didn’t really write anything.  Just laid in my bedroom and watched like thirty episodes of “Community” a day.  I’ve never referenced a lumberjack in a poem. Oddly enough I mention lumberjacks in real life quite a lot.