Caraphernelia

I feel you puncture looseleaf shavings,
breathe life into your bedroom’s walls.
From a distance, it seems like your flames
cascade—messy locks of blondish rage.
Every world you create, embellishes a mistake.
And I reel in that pain in the aftermath’s shame,
pondering if
these angels I hold
will crave a canvas
to scrub their blessings upon.

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