with jagged skyscrapers as teeth; oh, is consumption now the desecration of my very soul? I am troubled by memories and dreams, inspired by inkblots and wine glasses, queasy every time 5am flashes beside the nightstand
7am, no more sleep. I missed my chance. Wake up, fall down, and she doesn’t want to dance- the closet was empty, packed up the skeletons with pretty shoes. Swig back a jug of XX juice, silently suffering every time we lose
8am, time to wake up. But I can’t get back up, I can’t get back up.
eating up all my insides, untamed by whiny songs and memories and 500 days of bummer; there’s a light shining somewhere saying: "hey kid, you just haven’t made it home yet"
just take me home then, I’ll hold your hand and I’ll go to war over love; my scuffed up vans versus your shiny shoes, tore up jeans tangled with a flower skirt onto the firing squad of regret, worst enemy (me) as the host i’ll emulate Dylan when I say I love you the most
one day, just tell leoníe and micah “you’ve got your father’s eyes” “your mother’s thirst for life” and the best love stories always have a few sad pages