Middle, origin, we all start at (0,0)

and extrapolate outwards, Heartbeats and limbs and splayed hair on our pillowcases, My fingertips kiss my eyelids how soft sleep, rest, blinking, is. It’s hard to tell if we’re ugly up close. I eye the mirror and inspect the eclipses

Of my eyes, matte I don’t understand how some people’s glow-- maybe they’re all werewolves.

I’m in a phase right now
more moon than sun,

Spastic wrecks when they realize
that they are tired of burning.

My graph paper catches on fire,
& I make a wish before I blow the candles out

old iPhone cameras and beaming faces.
once, every year this day,

self-centered.