On

 On

On a certain level,
I’m trying to die. 
It’s not exactly 
Intentional. I
Just hate living 
In this beautiful 
Murderous
World, so much. 
Ignore Dickinson,
Wollstonecraft,
Morrison, Baldwin,
Whitman, and Mill,
And all the great minds
That populate
Our Anglo-
American damage. 
God forbid, we should 
Learn something. 
Stay silent, angry,
And alone. 
What are we living
For anymore? I
Really don’t know.

Once

Once

Once , while
Trying to sleep,
Not in this
Country, but
In another 
Country, a
Scorpion 
Arrogantly
Crawled acros
My arm, before 
Arrointing 
Itself off my
Wrist at the
End. It is
The most
Exhirating 
Thing that has
Ever happened 
To me. Full 
Stop.