cynicism only gets you so far

i've been bleeding
lighter fluid
for quite a while now, i've been
watching the sun rise through the webs
of skin between my fingers
i've been stitching up my skin like it's
an old pair of jeans, like tearing so easily is
normal
i think it's because this skin isn't
mine, it's an amalgamation
of other people's expectations and
screwed-up pieces of paper and
morning coffee or
panic-induced nausea
and breath made for a different set of lungs

i've been living off
caffeine and insomnia
for quite a while now, i've been
talking to the moon through the diamonds
on my window pane
i've been throwing myself into the glass like i'm
a sparrow, like i'm a blind bird
bone
i think it's because i don't know any
better, i pretend to be the queen
of the universe inside my room and
the ocean inside my teacup and
the lullaby i don't know the tune
or the words to
and a lover wrapped in plastic for the holocene age

i've been dreaming of
cityscapes
for quite a while now, i've been
thinking about running through the streets
until i reach a train station
i've been vomiting wildflowers like i
am trying to tell myself something about this
house
i think it's because my body is not built for
sunlight, it wants shadows of skyscrapers
in cardboard cups and engines and
yellow street glow lighting up
stray midnight people
and i don't know how to meet you halfway

i've been listening to
myself
for quite a while now, i've been
hearing the clatter of sins collide with my ribs
doing their job
i've been keeping this corruption in my throat like i
am still under the delusion that my heart is anything worth
saving
i think it's because it's the last thing i've
got, it might not be much but i'm running out
of things to care about and
i'm not sure that i've got enough
to keep on going
and i want to lie back and let the earth fossilize me, do some good even if nobody knows my name