This ongoing series of verses was written while inpatient at a mental health facility.

I see hell
at midnight
in the shape
of my life
— a trifle worth
only what
the devil heard

*

there is a song
the lyrics
untuned
goes into the head
and lost
by time, sung
to our lover
that ink
could not save

*

doubts hazard reason
to the surface
of pain
purchased in service
of such wealth

*

a knot
of proud forever
unlisted itself
in the one place
you’d never
think to look

*

we put together
thoughts
like good TV
to pull quick
against a profile
of guilt at
every detail
*

a child
soon enough
earns their rights

from a few things
in a mirror
no one else can see

*

if you tell me
the souvenirs
you want
from this world
not even memory
would suffice

but to be
good anyway
maybe is the only
victory we get
until it’s over

*

coded shapes
discover tricks
their shadows play
at home in the paint
as it dries
— a portrait so gray
it might as well
be time