Schadenfreude Poem by Jamie Dewyer

her dead pennies name these wounds
numbered, instructed to
bind, as a catalyst
into the drain

we watch in faux horror as
whispers through panes of glass
settle and subtle rays
shine towards introphase

i came home as leaves are dead
dying amidst the strands
folicle size of fates
hands on my dinner plate

these miricles mean there is truth in here
somewhere below this fear
somewhere the sun has set
we wear our own regret