the truthi bite my mouth scratch my head until i bleed, since i was in second grade -the truth
for some reason these are the moments of which i have vivid memories.
i have no cuticles, short nails, the skin of my fingers bitten raw, neurotic little tendencies i've tried very hard to stop.
Also not titled as of yet.she was made distant, hidden somewhere with the dust in the cracks of the floorboards, all the vacant places of the universe gathered up in the hands of god himself those blackened cosmos all stretched out for ages suddenly opened up burst forth, into full bloom a flower of agony in the springtime of her heart.Also not titled as of yet.
No Title Yetthere is nothing to anticipate no awkward pauses forced conversations the familiar companion ofNo Title Yet
alone a mistress in silver moonlight perhaps wearing a dress sewn of silence but not tonight tonight she is
the sound of consecutive footfalls on the wet pavement heartbeating the rhythm of
my song
incompletethere's a black bird flying above your head where the wind blows stronger there than here on the ground where your feet are stuck to the earth gravity weighing you down,incomplete
your arms still
too weak to reach your hands
up and up to the sky up where you would try to touch god
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