I’m Bored I’m Lonely I’m Throwing a Party

Like god, you are beautiful
& useless.

In the morning, every fire
alarm in my home will run
out of battery. I do not search
for the sound of their singing.

Dear red burst. Dear death. Dear blood
cutting through my knees.
I tried to stop living. Do you remember?
The kitchen sink was clogged. For days,
my heart’s futile song
a cruelty.

At the party, someone aims a squirt gun
full of whiskey at my face.
I’m talking to A about god, loneliness,
Islam’s thorny comfort.

Lord, I’ve done worse things
to my body. Lord, there is no god
but allah and the people I love
and worship as gods. Lord,
was it not faith
that kept me alive?

Last week, it rained so much
the street lights dimmed. The produce
decayed. The dead emerged
from the ground just to greet me.

I asked you: Are you afraid of death?
You asked me: Do I trust you?
You, who sees through cracked wind
shields. You, most violent shade of pink.

We’re no one’s heroes but our own
—eyes vulnerable as spider webs,
half shaitans, half gods,
the spaces between our fingers
a leaking roof.