My dread sends tender tendrils east.
The thread frays.
A galaxy shatters on the kitchen floor.
Its pieces form a comet tail.
Lo siento. No lo siento.
The best writing is confessional writing.
The best writing is repurposed truth.
A bed eats spiders. (Or is it a bird?
Red roses for passion. White for madness.
¿Why does no one believe me
I dig through the debris.
I find the box that holds my aches.
It's black on the inside,
And on the outside yellow, for love.
I bury the box.