On quieter days, I catch
myself laying on...
As if living life—
Roaming, violent, never still...
A decade of desires
has sunken into bedsheets...
His plan was to drown me in crimson,
in the name of a consecrated deity...
And I draw breath, parting myself down
the seam like a hairline fracture forming...
Beautiful.
I’m writing again, which translates...
I feel the curtain descending,
My days growing fewer...
Before you eat
your words...
Destined on a dayfall,
A hope that flickers in the night...
Why do I miss you so
even though we're close at heart...
If you keep moving
you can't cry...
Waves
Waves...