Carefully constructed plastic lining lips, 
filling out branded skirts with silicone,
bathing in golden greed and turning
knuckles into brass at the price of 
blood diamonds and rivers running into 
floating sludge as decaying carcasses
with nooses of cleverly marketed bottles
wrapped around their bloated necks drift
by on melting icecaps of liquid chlorine,
homes with floors of deforestation and 
wasted space six feet below from an
overpriced mahogany coffin, we try to
protect our overpopulation outbreak
with a mass-production of paper and a
nine to five of mutilated dreams bought
from our own educational brainwashing.  

Some of us don’t need a costume for 
We wear our human suit every day. 

– B.


They often tell me
I need to develop 
boundaries that are
not lined in iron 
cages dripping 
with difficult traps
and hidden snares. 

But I like being difficult,
I like lying all the cards
out on the table and
watching which you’ll
choose for your deck,
if you’ll choose at all. 

Either way, I’ll deal.

– B. 


Effortless they
float on as if 
the world is on 
an axis to
heaven when
it is spiraling
into oblivion

– no, no
chuckle in 
agony for 
that would be 
too easy

We don’t
deserve the
burst of cosmos. 
We deserve the
roots of trees
harvesting our
nitrogen and 
insects dining
on our flesh. 

I won’t say that 
over coffee but
I’m thinking it. 
I’m thinking it
while you are
thinking about
dream catchers 
and drifting your
fork over icing
and snapchatting
my grin strung
up by hook and
hidden wire. 

And I am tearing 
apart my ribs
and handing
them off on 
because I
am the eternal
monster said
dreams are
made of. 

– B. 


The pitter patter of
Earth’s depression is
undulating outside my 
doorway, and still I lie
as the dead on a bed
of blankets and regret

– I can still hear the 
birds chirping spring 

and so they sing to
the trees in hopes of
curing the melancholy,
and I wait in the halls
in hopes to hear the
creak of a door, or
perhaps a call for an
existence that means
something more than
just the fall. 

– B. 

Trapped In The Present

Pictures are so lovely 
they’ve a time so heavy 
it’s able to capture you
even in the present. 

Sometimes you watch the 
people in it and consider 
feeling as they did,
an outsider. 

But you are but a ghost 
drifting in a memory. 
So naturally, you’ve got 
to watch what you touch. 

– B. 

The Future

I found her choking on rose pedals and crying rain water. 

I set the candle on the mantle,

Wine permeating the air,

and slurred out a sentence. 

“You’ve got to learn to live in the future, that is where your happiness lies.”