catatonic

with their only vigor they reach
in the back of their throats:
“I want to choke.”
their dandelion eyes, all black
and lack luster:
they forget to forget
to breathe.

their bed sheets covered
in vinegar;
she weeps through
her teeth, and sings
through her hands:
a dry spell on a
cloudy day.

they whisper to her
in morse codes and
surrealism, whom is
devoid of all
but their fate? whom
is dead but from

their hate? she
craves and swells and self-
enslaves; “isn’t it beautiful?”
--it’s just another bloody
night, she screams, it’s
another bloody night and the moon

is so, so dull.