my heaven is a jar with the lid half-on.
sparks bang and split atoms
that unfurl like petals on a rose into teenagers, a garden undressed—the God complex realized. i am sixteen therefore i am. i am sixteen therefore my voice melts glass and bends metal at will. sex gives birth to seasons. alcohol sanctifies a night's worth of sin. blood isn't the lifeline, and doctors have taken to tethering skin with exposed headphone wires instead.
YOU ARE READING
OPEN-BRAIN SURGERY
Poetryshoved a needle in my brain and now my head won't stop bleeding
