I hear sirens
the sirens are coming for who
I think it’s me but I’m not bleeding
I think it’s me but the lights aren’t arriving
I wish it was me because I need taking
I wish it was me because I need receiving
I dreamt it was me for the attention
who is free from this need
who dissolves into beauty
who isn’t sour with unforgivable feelings

My red sweatshirt is filled with holes
it’s a soft wreck of clothing
a soft comfortable wreck
a soft
A saw a little girl with a birthday
in a war
a candle placed on top a stack of books
her Pretend cake
I saw her beam
I saw her wish
she looked cold
and her heart looked so big

I struggle to dance with all of these knives
but with ease I’ll try to marry you