On a quiet day, there's soft rain

Pattering on glass, maroon shadows

Sprayed across the floor. On a quiet day,

The window ices my cheek. Frost spreads

Like an infection of dandelion corpses

Along the frame. On a quiet day,

I smell bleach and artificial flowers,

Frequencies shifting through electrostatic

Speakers, white lights spiralling off

My pupils. On a quiet day,

There's a sob tied in a ruby-satin

Ribbon around my throat, swells

And ruptures like cells bubbling

In lysis. On a quiet day,

The nanoseconds of stardom

Are speeding through wailing highways

That scream when they slice;

Bone bridges that break when broken

And my ribs are blue, no breath,

For fear of failing, too. On a quiet day,

I'm buried in the floor,

Hands face down

As I let myself suffocate.

A sob that explodes as my inner

Brains spill along wooden floors,

The fiery touch of bleeding fingers

––Electrocuted hands shivering over

Paper, a raw, gnawing pit in my stomach.

Tilt and spill your contents, 

Show the emptiness in your heart,

Dig in deeper and find patches

Of love gone sour.

And know just how

Truly bygodf**kingscrewedup

You are.

––

Art by Patricia Ochudlo