As time eats us whole, alive. & there we lie squirming in the acid of its shadow, the dark of the belly consuming as we count black ants and blame starless nights.
light exceptionalism, how American.
cyclical, the cynics and idealists ride tricycles down the halls and round the ground, around, surround coffee cup stains on napkins.
Fish eat fish, “Baby Shark” plays too loud
stop Alexa, but they are d a n c i n g.
I’d like the salmon please, with lemon pepper and condensed cool, the sweat of two ice waters, both for me.
I was expecting someone.
—$39.99, treasure your Lincolns while you can still sit across from them.
Look past the lawn,
Willy Wonka’s factory manufactures greed in purple foil—royal.
Chocolate and gum in crowns and brackets.
We argued in an attempt to conquer, because she saw his throat and ate Adam’s apple
and I pretended I wouldn’t have done the same.
weak now for the lack of it, in the knees. we wallow with the worms under the rock where we fell in love with the
in a cataclysmic crash,
hair down their backs,
locks and lost keys hide-and-go-seek, but the kids have long stopped looking
pianos long out of tune, flat astronomy notes
blunting the stars into fire as we wear them loosely
down to crinkled “wanna meet up friday?” between my tingling
lips, fingers, thighs—
ivy creeps up my throat and flowers bloom
on my tongue, I cannot speak but I am wanted, like Love?
Fire, desire, feasting until we are ashes and all fall down in grassy rings
with wedding rings
when we pretend water won’t engulf us the same.
the trees fell around us, broken constellations blurred
and sharp eyes, sharp machines, sharp music in a melodic
minds fancy that they crave a legacy,
I like, I want, I take.
but oh, how i want, i want, i want
so I settle for cold Jack in the Box potato wedges instead.
the moon is so full tonight, and I envy her and remind myself that she’s just a smug rock stranded in the sky, just the suffering & victory
on repeat, start again, draw eight. let’s loop names around the Invisible, and laugh at how they rear their heads when they’re stranded with the sixes.
i wonder if she’s whole yet. no ambition, no aspirations,
unlike the slugs and potatoes crawling up my throat.
nobody has ever, will ever, starve like I do, for delicate ankles and loud, broad strokes for lips.
the stars are burning, the stars are falling in love with the beyond.
the stars become black holes and agony, collapsing chests and passionless spheres.
so the stars must know how need fills the nights, and the temptations of swallowing infinities.
Audrey Sioeng is a junior in high school who, when not getting lost in another book or freaking out about college, can be found gushing to her friends and family about her latest obsession. Most common subjects of said fangirling are her latest read, various Chinese dramas, and music. Currently, Audrey is focusing more on her schoolwork, crushing her family in mahjong, and updating her blog for young writers (Sprouting Ink), but hopes to submit more of her work for publication soon!