and why can't death be beautiful

as remnants of a cigarette with a loved one’s lipstick. when dents in a malt liquor can

can’t reflect but rainbows. glimmers. echoes weeping out broken widows.

splintered lullabies by sea. we are of water. of blood. of tears.

let us rejoice these salted wounds. these heartfelt wincing ecstasies.

and why welcome shame when i say. i hate myself.

a brisk sunny day’s long-lost brother in sweet grass lay and on two tabs.

another guilty honest smile just as gods intend. feral glorious reverent loathing.

hallowed be my end.

and callused psalms and sweating palms and steamed muscles soak

in fresh-squeezed somnia. cancer garnishing dirty wishes. beautiful. slow.

seasoned through summer we simmer and fall.

withering as winter keeps us cooked in earth and spring. 

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our wings as chains prey like lost baby birds. homeless anti-heroines stuck.

asleep under a starry night’s cries. wakes on altars only bruises hear.

to see all things once held so dear cheat on you with iced sickles and lips turned blue.

a hue too rich for us.

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and how is death so pitiful.

the birth of why we care. the wait of what we miss.

a bliss sobs and sniffles disguise.

beautiful.

slow.

of all i love those quiet mournings. for letting bawl by the wayside.

cherries on top cold lumps called living. gently rejected decadence.

the mother we can’t help but deserve.