Kid sitting at the edge of a dock.
Legs swinging in free fall.
Wood scrapes into his hands.
He thinks that the stars can talk to him.
He thinks they are whispering that they’re his best friends,
And that they want him to
Do even better
Work a little harder
Stay up a little later
Poor kid doesn’t understand
He’s killing himself on accident
I had this dream the other night that some object in outer space had been reflecting radiation onto certain people: just dissolving them painlessly into light.
No more promises to go to bed earlier
No more making up meaning for the mess on the floor,
No more pages all across my desk.
No more of the big clothes to hide what I don't have.
past the burning day,
at bedtime when I shrug off sleep,
When I've got school the next morning, and I shouldn't be here,
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