Yours truly, Chaos

Night.
As I always told ye
'twas the end of the world
as stars and night
we called upon thee
summoned dear Lord
of frozen silk in the air
student strikes in San Juan
fallen teachers of fallen hair.
Night.
As I pictured it in me head
cleaning me glasses with raspy cotton
falling without earrings
and other shameful piercings
trying not to care about
this unread poetry
painting
writing
forever looking for the next
Night.
As I called it
upon the storm inside
me cup of Earl Grey
rotten Jasmine to me head
opening me ass further
with a tiny kitchen knife
just because I could and wanted.
Night.
Stars more alive than me
far away from me own satellite
as ye all kill me softly
with this song telling my whole life
with these words killing me softly
until I womit the few fireflies
I got me left.
Night.
Forever yours.
Yours truly.