Buttercup, I’m stuck in your glitchy glow,
eleven seconds of VHS snow—
you loop my tongue in pastel static,
crush my lungs like cheap automatic.
I sneeze neon, you giggle in code,
pocket my ribs on a dial-up road.
Spin me, tiny terrarium dream,
syrup skull, bubblegum scream.
Rewind the moon, we’re almost free—
but the tape ends, still clinging to me.