Faux pearlsI've had a lot more sleepless nights:More Like This
more nights spent dreaming, wishfully thinking,
each dream a little ball of spite
that soaked into my skin, bags under lids.
The more I dreamed, I realized,
the more my stomach lined itself with moths:
plucking my organs like cotton,
sipping on my blood, a cold, leaden froth.
I love fantasizing, but I...
...hate knowing that fantasies are just that.
Fantasies. Stars glued to pupils.
Damned to the chase, the cat hunting the rat.
I want--beg for--the pearly moon,
but all I get is white light.