when he asks the boy in the mirror

what he wants for himself in the future

a shrug sends the letters, "stability, 9-5, an apartment,

a dog and a cat and some plants to look after and a plastic Christmas tree

to leave behind until the summer" but he doesn't really know

if that's his definition of home, of true home,

and maybe it's cause he's afraid to hope for something better,

stares at the blank page below, scared of the unknown, terrified of the words

that will follow, of the mistakes, of the eyes gripping gavels, of the tongues and the sentence, of the period, no periods please, just commas, just semicolons, just exclamation points, anything but that black dot that swallows everything whole, please me and twirl me around in ampersands instead and strike through me with dashes and slashes, keep me going, i don't want to die, sleeping's such a tease of what's next and will always will be, no black dots please

sipping hot tea, vapor rises and i’m calm

i’m listening to lucy dacy’s new album, it’s nice

my A/C’s running, breath brushes and it starts

from the bottom, from my sole rising

but there’s guilt because i’m killing the earth with it

we’re lobsters in a pot of water and we forgot we left the fire on

i want to have kids but it’s not fair that the first thing they see’s

a ceiling blackened from smoke

the song's done

i turn off the A/C

but i’ll turn it on again after a while

and i’ll leave it running.

he is wasting time

22 in 8 days, ending a lap again

race track’s a wall clock zebra striped as the sun dips,

prison bars filter dreaming light and he is here back again

saying the same things over and over and over

underneath a cracked roof with a ceiling which threatens to collapse

inches above his dome, inches away from being roofless

secondhand runs the hour while he witnesses death second-hand

she is sleeping alone

22 in 8 days, starting a lap again

relieved to be dumped, 3 weeks was all it took,

now dreams on the edge of the double bed

reliving shadows of the time they spent

and wishes flesh would rent the space next to her

doesn’t have to be forever, just for a moment

just until the rock bears the weight of the weather

a boy averts his gaze

every morning and every night

a fog curtains his face

every waking second and every sleepless dream

doesn’t know who he is

doesn’t know who’s staring back

as cataracts skew, tinting rainbows

into shades of deep to dead lead,

and shawls the noose inching closer

to the jugular pumping ash

to leave the house is a task

too hot for a hoodie

so when he needs to, he wears a cap

a helmet for the eyes chambered in 7.62′s

and hides his from God’s scope glint up above

doesn’t know who he is

doesn’t know who’s walking O’s

as mildew grows and encrusts his blast room

into an echo-chamber cornered by ma’s CCTVs,

hotboxed in smoke off of his strucked match-head

CO monitor beeps the beat of his heart

but his thoughts deafen

and so this monotone song is sung from a swan’s beak,

a lone send-off to the wolf’s den