it’s god’s
little joke
giving me
this ability
to see beauty
in everything
except myself
shattering me
into a prism
to split all
these emotions
into needles
to pierce
the æther
with all the
things i lack

i would give
my frontal lobe
to be held
just until
this storm passes
i would offer
my heart
but i wouldn’t
wish to burden
anyone with
the inevitable
return postage

i just want
everything to be
less fucking
everything
all the time
knowing too well
there is no succor
for the skinless
marionettes
jerking in this
salinity of sadness