i would suffocate if it wasn’t for
this chunk of skin i am digesting,
torn from my finger tip,
sinking into me, sinking
further into an empty glance,
snowing & the internet is fucked.
the song that wakes me every morning
plays like a dream, phone to ear
& i don’t hear anything, but the snow
falling heavier than before.
fingers to bridge of nose,
i wonder how everything would be
if it all shattered open
& everything ugly spilled out.
what if nothing came forth &
all things claimed beauty,
like snow disturbed by a
single drop of red.