The
saint of my dilated pupils
Sits
in the ever contracting cave of darkness
And
worships the dim lighting above the sink
Smoke
alarms don’t bother the slumber sum pupils in their rooms
Climbing
floor after floor
Screaming
and thumping dorms
Walking
up and skittering down
Like
the dots on the mirror that I stare into, at 2 a.m
Trying
to find something new
Maybe
a wrinkle or another white hair
And I’m
barely 19.
The
leaks from the pipes pool at my feet
And
I’m like a little frog in monsoon
Breathing
through my skin in the shower
And
counting beauty marks on my body
As if
I am a spotted cheetah.
My
roommate tells me to sleep the smoke off
But
the contents of my mug
Cause
the saint to escape from my eyes
And
all I am left with are
Dark
caves instead of eyes.
