In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers, my back a misguided quote
anger, like you can sink teeth into, candy apple
Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.
You let the yellow glow from eye sockets. The building up the street is burning faster and faster.
four-thirty a.m.
I am not a guide for every traveler of loss.
I am still waiting for the lion
The collective failure of ethical standards
it’s touch-and-go with me and weddings
I myself should never have been born
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary until I smell like the bones until I am its echo…
the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.
my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight, and there are already way too many fragments in this house
He has stories that I am not in anymore. It’s healed this way.
There is so little left of the tomato plants.
Gravel-scatted hell & we were blessed to be able to hold on for even a heartbeat
this is what I want you to to see: leaves falling because it is too late for them not to
It recommended soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent to parent might calm and soothe the kid.
Even as the sun warms the concrete the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.
Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night; should have boiled old coffee before noon.