poem: she killed herself after hatha yoga

we are pixie people living
in small dream worlds,
waiting for the witches
and the briar wolves to make roses
of our teeth, of our sad
last nights, last times.

we are young people living
in rejected worlds,
waiting on balconies and
fire escapes, making chemical
stardust under our beds
and selling dreams
to the witching people, selling
ourselves for loan
cancellations and sex.

they told us they told us they told us
you can make anything, you can be
anything. even what is not real
is yours

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