Nights when it's warm and no one is watching, I walk to the edge of the road and stare at all the fireflies. I squint and pretend they're hallucinations, bright made-up waves of the brain. I call them, field bling. I call them, fancy creepies. It's been a long time since I've wanted to die, it makes me feel like taking off my skin suit and seeing how my light flies all on its own, neon and bouncy like a wannabe star. ---Field Bling by Ada Limón, from book Bright Dead Things