crooked-clockwork

(birth.) i walk home, crisp shoelaces, bloodied nose middle of autumn, frothing at the mouth kids took summer skin too far, brought on apocalypse i tell myself it will be over soon, wintertime freckles will be here incensed (childhood.) stove milk and delicate murmurs the technicolor alphabet teaches itself purple bowls with animal faces hospital bracelets around tiny wrists won’t come loose mama (adolescence.) the clouds are gasoline, wisps of gin, addicted there is vomit on the floor, new candy sores sky is burning, orange with hungry flame, vying i don’t know who to talk to, crying let me go alive (adulthood.) doctor

there are no pitfalls in the renown of hurt, for it is always there in the mold of something neglected, something bloodshot; unraveling it from the prayer of a public leukemia.