if only you knew
what the view actually
looked like.

it's a good buy.
it gets real low.
can't **** high fast enough.

well, actually.

sometimes
I feel alone
no matter what

that's a response
to someone who
found me face down
in the mud;
I once breathed through bamboo
for 8 days in a rice paddy
just waiting for the chance
to run.

I'm *** spilled on the deck.
it's something,
isn't it?

evoke something.
it's all *******.

until it isn't, right?
different lives,
fire flies on a humid night
in the backyard.

mask scars with sunshine,
kind of...

line after line after line after line.
don't mind us.

creative output is in overdrive
(that's contrived)
it's exhausting
I love it

jail is like an african black clay
face mask for the ******* soul
I think I'm the only one who
views it as such though
but alas
I remain satisfied

eh

that's what ambition actually sounds like

these million million molecules
between the things we hate
about each other
smother me in the night.

"mama has lost it,
hasn't she?"

I wouldn't think of blaming all of you.
ever.

these walls are thick with paint,
with trauma,
with blood,
with time lost.
I model my mental state
on the falling log levels
in Super Mario World Whatever,
those and the story you told me
crying that one night.

keys and locks,
darling.

the sunshine feels like the scream of something small enough for me to
forget it feels.

feels, though.

pines hold rain longer than
other trees,
maybe;
I build pyramids alone in my dreams.

when you cut my heart out
you better hold it high
enough to block out the ******* sun.

my blood pools at the foot
of God himself;
the best "no" I can think of.