be better.
pen, please write.
I don't know how to assume.
days turn to paper.
glass seems to starve.
to death in seamless dreams.
about peacocks and stars and exits.
and what it's like for you in water.
and what it's like for you in color.
I'll write about you in every new book of silly sad poems
that no one reads anyways, so don't worry.
write me a song I can sing.