Here is to the sunrise, which I swear I've never beheld, like the dying embers of a universe cradled in my palms
crushed like the petals of a flower that has been given no name
incandescent and blue faded to grey

they say she baked herself in an oven, without ginger and turpentine
just a rickety cadaver curled in on itself like feet bound by lace, supine blooms
and weak ankles

is it wrong that my concern is this life, I'm watching wilt as if it were a drowning cactus
not the trillions of others surrounding me, flawed just as much by their existence in singularity
isolation consuming them wholly
swallowed down into the acid rain
gathered in the demon's underbelly