The day that Daniel caught me trying to take pictures of the sun,
The previously salt-bleached name that was him
Blushed crimson like a tree in autumn.
No matter how hard you try, you can't un-see something like that.

I am permanently mistrustful of railings
And I can't touch the edges of anything sharp,
Or soft,
Or angry.
And I am scrambling eggs on a Tuesday morning,
Shuddering because the floor
Is cold and my feet
Are sore
And eggs make me sick most of the time.

Did you know that when scientists
Play dress-up
And imagine themselves rat-gods
And force their loyal subjects into overpopulation,
The religious begin to steal and murder and assault
And become hauntingly
Human
Before dropping into rodent-oblivion?

I'm not sure about that
But I do know that
When I was 16 years old,
The world looked like the inside of a pill bottle,
And everyone was a side effect.
And I was intent on finding out what happens when you turn off your heart.

And then I turned 17 and the world started blooming watercolors
Like the ones Haley used to spill onto papers between us
While she asked me the meaning of life
In the art room.

Your heart sounds like a traffic light
If you plug your ears just right

Sometimes I can't handle the weight of my own brain,
And I'm so afraid I'd find that my heart sounds like a hurricane
If I take my fingers out of my ears.