these poisoned days

I. Camella
She arranges flowers at his roadside memorial
and promises never to forget him or the origami
frogs he made out of gum wrappers in home ec
because the newspapers don’t remember frogs.
They remember he was drunk now he’s dead
what a shame let’s move on next headline.
The burning headlights fly past like they’ve
forgotten him and the roses are a runway.

II. Tristan
He inhales the burning tobacco and exhales
to draw the melancholia outside of his chest,
but escaped ghosts are crowding the bathroom
and pressing him against the chipped blue tile.
The glowing florescents are peering too deeply
into his coffin body, and he’s afraid they’ll see
his corpse rotting in his wasteland of a temple.
He can’t remember the last time he called home
and didn’t make his mother weep; at least she cares.

III. Bridgette
She likes to run and run and run her pace
is the only thing that doesn’t ever feel broken.
The pat pat pat of her feet slapping the concrete
is the only thing she can control when everything
else seems tilted and like she is supposed to stand  
there and smile because it should feel okay to lose
everything when you have empty palms tied together.
She looks like she is running from the sunrise or
something else flaming inside, and perhaps she is.