My heart held a funeral for youwhen I wasn’t lookingWithin the whistling, overgrown garden of trees of eyes and I close my eyes one by one by oneto not see your pained pacing back and […]
I’d like to wear a yellow shirt not spandex just cotton I’ll be wearing a fuscha lip color a color like not like I will be holding a bat not a gun smashing the stage […]
Pitter-patter Fallen, wet souls Tapping my shoulder Screaming my name on the window Who’s out there howling, Slowly turning insane?
Division, direction, locality of particles between the world and me. Specifically, Top: containment of hope-churning grey matter. Center: throbbing red solid sensing magnitudes beyond its size. Bottom: appendage, vehicle of particulate movement.