I heard they are changing the dictionary.
When the streetlights flicker, think of every doe-eyed child that the city swallows
Welcome, weary traveler! To my humble abode. Come, come. I'll show you
You know those instances when we start off in the wide, turbulent currents of a river making its way downstream?
Grief is a lonely river, like a fisherman's song with an empty net
If they knew, your mother would have said, “It’s in your head, darling,” and your father would have screamed, “Put that head in the toilet bowl where it belongs.”
In that world, ignorance amassed like water near the roots of a cypress tree.
The place had no soul or spirit left, and it was evident in the colourless walls, the unclean glasses, the empty eyes of the server who left me a menu card.
As I turned around to reply, she was gone.
You stand where you always have
The blue model of clay vices that sits in a house of glass
I pen misery with dark black ink that I draw from a hole inside of my chest
I stare bleary eyed as my lock screen tells me I have a new message.
The blue never ended here. The lights did not go out either.
We imagine ourselves.
She is broken but she is fine.
Hide yourself in my feathers, and I’m sure we can look for them together…
An unwarranted guide, tormented pride, a sheep inside of a wolf’s hide.
Death has always been there.