last year a shakey handoff (at best) constantly choosing between life and sleep haven’t slept in years when i do; my dreams were a gothic spinoff love interest played by wednesday. black and white lens for thee ending send-off all black molotov (for those who couldn’t be here) with fireworks and a rip off.
Category: Writing
it’s january
am i a real person hard to tell non from fiction; empty beach growing waves crashed against lost sand; is this a metaphor? am i the wave? the sand? more like the beach, as a fly on the wall watching the waves watching the sand waiting for something different but i remember;
Nine lives
infinite amount of chances just gotta take more he told me that before he passed he said you never know what is a bullseye until you shoot.
10 pm
the first night i stayed up hours after playing it back in my head on a projector & my eyes the bulbs every second didnt want to forget the smallest detail
an 11
today you walked with a goddess. did you tell her, tell her, tell him tell them. born a sun and we an idol worshipper- tell em, they can’t see themselves the way we do.
for twelve
just living a false dream someone elses somedays, it’s a cape flying around catching bad guys other days, it’s a noose holding me still gasping for another way out; someone else’s dream like a torch bearer we only run forward
13 blue birds
i paid to be accepted only to be denied fair treatment. singing among the treetops cursed to walk the ground your song only calls the hell hounds.
20-20
ive been writing mostly hiding idk if i like what i see in the mirror but at least i can see
trust
it was easier before- before, everything. they took everything not nailed down but nothing more Precious than my eyes to see you clearly
late night dip
i worry i’ll sink beneath my thoughts.