When our hands' touch
i feel electricity
run through my veins
like vines turned to ash



and then you pull away
and then you pull away
and then you pull away

I cannot quite articulate
the inescapable frustration
that you are to me.
i adore you.
𝘐 𝘈𝘋𝘖𝘙𝘌 𝘠𝘖𝘜!
i adore you-
BUT 𝙄 𝘼𝙈 𝙏𝙊𝙊 𝙈𝙐𝘾𝙃 𝙁𝙊𝙍 𝙔𝙊𝙐!
AND I SUPPOSE LATER ON
i will cry
my stupid
eyes out.

tyrannicide is a beautiful word.
it is the felling of a beast.
the anger of the insurgent hordes.
It is just as much the killing of a dictator
as it is
the killing
of a god.
modern tyrannicide
is telling the boy who sits behind me to shove a sock in it,
and not feeling guilty about it.

"It doesn't matter, she loves me as well"


- Spoiler alert: it mattered.

and there she is

widows-thrill
or devil's backbone,
some sort of specimen
hog-tied to the sediment

combs her hand
with nails bit past the quick
through her hair
til she thinks there's not one incongruent strand

dragging her feet
down the primrose path
off on the hard way into heaven

I know I'm good for something
I just haven't found it yet

And all at once,
I know the plight of the hungry dog
given only a bone.
it is identical
to the plight of the suicidal man
thrown a rope.