Sawyer Fell

The kitchen will be used.
The pantry will be emptied
and then promptly refilled.
My pillow will be creased,
and my sheets will be wrinkled.

He said he still believes in God.

and I asked, “What for, after all God has taken from us?”
and he said, “I am lucky to even have anything at all.”

I was born a star and raised to be dark matter.
Love the black holes from which I am close.
Glitched and out of touch, expansive dust.
Vastness and void of life, of a tender body.
Orbiting the world like the infinite ouroboros.

My friend mentioned she was sad to see the leaves drop. She said this as if the shedding oak trees were a disgrace to her. As if their nakedness wasn’t breathtaking in the eyes of an artist.

I am still determining who You are. This is similar to religion.
You do not have to be bone under flesh under clothes;
You can be the questions I ask when I am the only one in the room.

The gum sends down a burn to my throat,

I argue with myself if I love it or not.

Its spice is grown from lifeless pleasure,

and distaste has become a full dinner.

Is the rush to my head still worth it?