I just went to my closet for pajamas,
Stepping over dirty laundry dogs
Breathing in the dark. I reach for a purple sweatshirt,
Foot breaking on a box of crafts.
Even in the dark
My day clouds the room like smoke,
Crowds heavy and sticky into my chest.
I think I hate horror films because
This world and my mind are already a cinema of terror and madness.
I fold the sweatshirt to my chest and exhale.
“I love every fragment of you, just as it is. Every broken frame of mind…I stare it in the face, still fascinated.
I know every heart sliver and lethal thought that ever was.
I grieve the death and madness.
I have worn it in my skin, too.”
I tuck my face into royal folds,
Shoulder slumping against pimpled white wall,
And I drip down it to closet floor,
Tears pooling and face falling
Into dirt speckled carpet and sweaty clothes.