i hold soap in my mouth
to freshen impure words
and when i sleep like an angel
i dream of hell.
we are living in a house
painted white but streaked
with blood. in a hidden box
you keep small parts of me.
i find them and let you have them.
our lives are a movie,
hazy and freckled with voids.
i don't look too close.
i am walking home from school.
a man in a car won't let me go.
the sky is sunny like a burst celestial flower,
fractures lining its petals.
i imagine walking through the woods
where streets get cut off until they resurface
with the crookedness of a missing child's
forest preserve bones.
i am that child
and i am at home.