the smell of gasoline and the
over-eager honks of rickshaw drivers
hangs
in the air. mosquito nets
and itch cream are
the currencies of me and my siblings,
our rewards:
a turn with the charging outlet or
sleeping next to the air conditioning for the night.

the fan whirrs steadily,
a futile attempt to ward off
the stagnant, humid atmosphere
settling over us. there
is sneeze-inducing masala everywhere— 
i anticipate dinner, remind myself
to thank my grandmother before we start.
...

i don’t want to forget about you / but i can't
think about anyone but you / you, pervasive,
invasive, haunting, chilling / i wish
i could think about / anyone anything
something but you
there is a / dent in the pot / and a 
coffee stain on the couch and / a chip
in my coffee mug / and all of it is you you you
and i want to forget now/ but i can’t forget-shouldn’t forget-don’t...

there are stars in your eyes and
clouds in your hands,
dreams floating in your head. i
fall
more in love every day.

there are tiny waves at our feet
and my hand is in yours. i 
watch your smile grow
as you watch the children splashing water at each other
and i selfishly

hope.

the moon hangs in the sky
and the confessions tumble,
awkwardly, out, down,
falling. i
tell you everything with
words that never come out of...

you are beautiful 
in the way that destruction is beautiful—
bruises blooming roselike in your lungs,
smoke in the air and thorns under your nails,
bones jutting out; a map tangible enough for me, blind.

you are beautiful in the way an apocalypse is beautiful—
blue light and metal and rainfall
your stride, reminiscent of lions roaring. if i try hard
enough, i can hear your chains rattle.

you are beautiful in the way wildfires are beautiful—
weeping gasoline and...

we're
supposed to be studying.

(we're not.) someone
throws
a pencil into a drain. it
cl a t  t  e  r   s
down, taunting. a
reminder. a 
warning,
maybe.

leaves scrape
a dissonant symphony
against the cement, an
unsettling susurra in 
the fragility of this moment.

our shadows lengthen, dusky
liminality when everything else
hovers in uncertainty,
too. our phantom coming-of-age. a brittle
silence— the signal of a generation compliant,
with everything to lose
and no one to care.

the...

Black booted feet beating on the forest floor I weave through the tall formidable soldiers of Mother Nature that surround me. My breath puffing out in a little cloud of condensation, I halt, shiver, and pull my coat around myself a little tighter. Filtered moonlight peeking through the rustic emerald canopy provides insufficient illumination for my cause.

Where is it?

Squinting, I attempt (in futility) to find my bearings in this dark, almost satanic, underworld. Making a snap decision I...